As seems pretty usual these days, Monday didn't look like it was going to be a good day for sailing lessons. A cold front came through, bringing rain and wind, and as I drove across the bridge to the yacht club, I could see the same whitecaps that kept us from sailing the previous week.
But canceling another lesson wasn't in their plan. The two instructors decided to take us each out, then manning the tiller and mainsail, the class members running the jib. (The jib is the front, smaller sail.)
There was a lot of wind, and I was still a bit wary from two weeks past when I tipped myself out of the boat. I was anxious to go out, but I held back while two others went out first. But on the second pass, I went out with Jamie, a guy I'd met the night of the first lesson.
The wind was still pretty high, but Jamie knew how to handle the boat. We started out on a beat -- sailing fairly close to the no-sail zone. (There is about a 45 degree angle around the direction the wind is coming from you can't sail, this angle is called the "no-sail zone".) The boat heeled quite a bit, and we were going quite fast it seemed. I did quite a bit of hiking -- leaning out over the side of the boat -- to balance the wind. And got quite wet, as well. That was okay, the water was warm. A good thing, as it turned out.
You don't cleat the jibsheet (the rope to the jib) on a boat this size, and it was amazing just how much force pulled on that sail. I got fairly adept at knowing just how far in or out to pull the jib, and it was neat to feel how fast we were moving knowing it was simply the wind pushing us. After about twenty minutes, we sailed back to the dock to let the last people who had not crewed do so.
When everyone had crewed, one woman asked if she could "drive". Neither I nor any of my class was willing to crew for her -- the wind was still pretty strong, but our main instructor went out with her. Not too far out she pushed the tiller the wrong way and they did something called a "death roll", which sounds somewhat more ominous than it is. Normally when a sailboat capsizes, the sails are pushed to the water by the wind. In a death roll, the boat capsizes *toward* the wind, due to various circumstances. For them, it happened in a matter of seconds. I saw the boat hit the water and turn turtle almost immediately because it hit with such force. But Joe (the instructor) got the boat upright in just a minute or two, and they were sailing again.
A bit later, it was my turn. As I said, I was still wary from our lesson of two weeks ago, and I *really* didn't want to capsize the boat. Joe got in first, and then I got in and was able to sit on the side of the boat with no problems. We started out, I was running the mailsail and the tiller. It was harder than I had expected.
It's kinda like learning to drive. Remember (for those of you with driver's licenses) how many things there seemed to be to remember? That's how I felt. Make sure that I'm pointed the way I should be. *Keep* pointed that way. Keep the mainsail trimmed correctly. As the wind changes you have to trim the main again and reposition the tiller -- no, that, like driving, is a constant thing. You're always steering. And things were going pretty well, though I was having problems getting the hang of the tiller extension. The tiller was easy, but the tiller extension actually was uncomfortable to use, and seemed to make things more difficult. (The tiller and rudder are always in a line with each other. Now imagine a two foot long pole that has a ball joint connecting it to the tiller. That's the tiller extension.) And they insisted we use the tiller extension.
Then it was time for my first tack. Following his instructions carefully, I made the tack maneuver, ducking underneath the boom and moving quickly to the other side. Unfortunately, as I moved, I lost hold of the tiller extension. I sat down, was just grabbing again for the mainsheet and tiller when the boat gibed.
This is one of the things the book warn against -- an unintentional gibe. In both a tack and a gibe you switch which side of the boat the wind come from. In a tack you run the bow of the boat through the wind, and in a gibe you run the stern of the boat through the wind. The other thing that happens in both cases is that the mainsail and gib switch sides. And with the mainsail comes the boom.
So, the boat gibed. The boon swung back toward me pushed by a fairly high wind.
I never saw it. At least I don't think I did. The boom, moving at a good clip, hit me just at my left eyebrow. I distinctly remember a crunch that I thought was my glasses dying, and then going into the water.
When I bought my lifevest, I didn't think I'd ever really want it, but the rules are that we have to wear them. I'm an excellent swimmer, and I'm glad I had it. I floated up and the first thing I did was look at my glasses. (Hey! They're only a couple of months old, and insurance won't pay for another pair.) They seemed okay, but the strap I keep on them while sailing had come off. I handed the glasses up to Joe, who was there asking if I was alright, then swam to the transom. I was okay, but I did feel a bit, uh, stunned I guess. Whatever, but I wanted just to hold on for a moment before trying to get into the boat -- something I knew wasn't going to be pleasant.
A few minutes later I was back in the boat, with Joe driving. That was okay -- I was willing to let him get us back to the dock. I'd lost a water-walker, and so had one bare foot.
No one on the dock had seen it. I don't know whether that was good or bad. I mostly sat on the dock and watched for the rest of the night. I didn't even help de-rig the boats. I would've, but that takes place in gravel, and I didn't really want to deal with the gravel and possibly other things in a bare foot.
Now, 26 hours later some of the swelling has gone down. I guess I'll try again next week.
Oh, this chapter should really have been titled: Boat 2, Sean 0, but I didn't want to give too much away...