So I'm standing there, just back from Downwind Marine in San Diego with all the tools and supplies I needed to move my C-27's hand rails from the cabin top to the overhead below when it hits me, what am I thinking? Heck, it's a beautiful day, and the wind's blowing, I'm going sailing . . . For the benefit of future boat owning dreamers and the East Coast snow bounds this board often reflects the, this is broke, or that doesn't work, downside of sailing, so I thought I'd post what I did today. What most of us do, just go sailing . . . Weekdays on San Diego Bay are nice since there's only a few folks out amidst all the security protecting the navel fleet. They don't hassle me anymore as I shaved off the mustache I wore for thirty years. I realized that from 50-yards away it made me look too much like Mohammed Atta. I motored out of my slip and locked down the tiller and raised the sails. It's always a juicy moment, maybe the essence of sailing, when you reach down and flip the key to kill the motor. In most situations this would mean the end of a journey, but when sailing, it denotes a beginning. A couple of tacks and a left turn leads me into the bay. It's funny now, but I remember myself practicing tacking at home, you know, the stool, sheet and imaginary broom handle tiller, jumping to the other side and passing the line over and all that. Now I just plant myself on the same side as the beer. I learned to pass the downwind jib sheet around a cleat and over the cockpit to another cleat on the side I'm sitting on. Easy . . . .! San Diego's Harbor Police are out in force and one passed me a little too close, I thought, as I waved to an officer who looked dressed more for jungle warfare than patrolling the bay, I'm not sure what's going on these days but I really think we were a cooler race of people in the sixties and seventies. Oh well . . . I emerged from the Harbor Island Channel and laid her over on a starboard tack. I loosely trimmed the sails and let her settle in and go. Then I went below to pee. When I came back up the sight before me made me freeze. No, I wasn't about to be run down by a Honda Hauler it was just so . . . beautiful. I went forward instead of aft, and just stood there taking it all in. No, I wasn't impersonating that guy from the Titanic movie (he was, after all, impersonating us anyway) but, oh yeah, Julia Bell was in the groove and we were flying . . . I went as far as I could go and turned downwind wing and wing. It's funny, but downwind fools you into thinking the wind's not blowing all that hard. So I grabbed my fishing pole and threw a line over the stern rail. I love wing and wing as you must concentrate and adjust just a bit here and there to keep both sails full, I don't know it's just a cool skill to develop. Nothing is biting so I stood up and reeled in my fishing line without paying attention to the tiller and all of a sudden I got into the lee and boom swept across and beaned me a good one. (I'm not afraid to say the one thing you learn is you never learn.) I fell into the cockpit like a man sucker punched in a bar and sternly reminded myself that all this has a price and if you're gonna do it boy, you better be damn careful. The San Diego skyline started to shimmer in the dimming light as I broad reached across the bay. The wind, in probably it's final gasp, picked up and we laid over and began to cook. "Get up, Julia Bell," I thought (all boys revert to cowboys) and I went smoking dead center on the Coronado Bridge. As I passed the Embarcadero one of the cruise ships began backing down to make for sea. I gave her a wide berth so as not to catch Newport’s Disease (Hey, don't ya think it's a cycle now for first time cruisers feeling the first pangs of Mal de Mar to automatically call their lawyers)? With about an hour of daylight left I reached up and headed home. Ya know, I know a Catalina 27 ain't all that, but I'm always awed by how well she points as I let go, sat back with another beer and let Julia Bell take me home . . . Back in her slip (what am *I* doing wrong) she's buttoned up and I'm here writing this. No matter the hassle, no matter the expense, no matter the snow for all you brothers back east, it's all worth it. And it gee, it was nothing more than just an afternoon’s sail . . . Nick "Julia Bell" C-27, #86