BAY SAILING
Sailing From A Land-Lover's Perspective

At the crack of dawn on a rainy day in late April, I awoke to the violent shaking of my leg by my cousin. "We've got to go," he gently coerced.

On many mornings like this, my mild mannered cousin sheds his casual tendencies … and becomes … da-da-da-dun … "Captain Caleb" of the lightning quick Melges 32 named Stewball. (Stewball is a sailboat that crushes almost every other sailboat in its class and has the capability of going five knots faster than your standard, run-of-the-mill America's Cup sailboat. In other words, a serious sailing machine!)

I dressed in record time and we were out the door, on the way to the St. Francis Yacht Club in San Francisco to pick up other crew members. Once we were loaded in, the jaunt passed Sausalito, on highway 101 North, put a damper on the excitement. The weather was still terrible — cold and wet.

Secretly I hoped the trip would be put on an indefinite rain delay so I could return to my warm, sturdy couch in pursuit of the fastest lap time in the Gotham City Racing video game. But an hour later, stiff in my patched together wetsuit (part sailing, part skiing apparel), the sun peeked through the clouds over Point Richmond and Stewball was headed out to sea, with my hopes of a reprieve left waiting at the dock.

Captain Caleb referred to the excursion as "practice," meaning the crew would practice tacks, jibes, and any other sailing maneuvers they thought would best prepare them for the Great Vallejo Race the following week. I was second string; my job was to enjoy the sites and stay the heck out of everyone's way.

We rounded Alcatraz and were met with a cloudless sky as we headed toward the Golden Gate Bridge. The weather motivated me to join the fun and contribute. During our lunch break, I trained in the art of manning the mast and, after lunch, it was going to be my turn.

To say I was nervous is an understatement of epic proportions. Yes, I was motivated to pitch in, but I didn't want to fail Captain Caleb. I didn't want to mess up the main sail and my general fear of sharks and the ocean was growing into a bowling ball-sized lump in my throat. As the sandwich wrappers and empty bottles were stashed below deck, I took my place closest to the mast as we headed upwind.

The swells had picked up since morning and the wind was blowing fiercely. We passed beneath the Golden Gate Bridge and were readying to set the spinnaker to whip back downwind. I grabbed the halyard with all my strength. My heart was racing as the boat turned towards the city. "Now!" Captain Caleb yelled.

I jumped up and pulled the halyard as fast and as hard as I could. The boat began to tip. The crew was yelling. I could hear scurrying behind me; I lost my grip and splash! I was in the drink. Dazed, I looked up out of the water and grabbed the lifeline on the side of the boat. Images of Jaws ripping my legs off motivated me in a serious way to get back on the boat. I grabbed the mast for dear life until we flattened out.

Soaked, freezing and seasick, I took my place behind Captain Caleb where I stayed for the remainder of the "practice," completely humiliated for having caused the whole incident. When we reached the dock, the crew reassured me I had done nothing wrong. Even Captain Caleb chimed in. But I have never been so happy to be back on dry land. (Invitations to sail again have been grudgingly accepted.)