Sailing


The lovely Mrs. Borengasser and I have been invited by good friends to go sailing on a nearby lake.

I’ve never been sailing, unless you count floating on something that resembles an ironing board with a sail the size of a bath towel. Mostly, it was an excuse to fall in the water.

This will be different. a twenty-something-foot boat with a cabin. I picture myself basking in the balmy breeze, feeling smug and superior. Since I’ve never before had an opportunity to feel smug and superior, I’m looking forward to the experience.

“There’s supposed to be a storm front moving in,” says the lovely Mrs. Borengasser. “What if the wind is too strong? Won’t it be dangerous?”

“Danger? Hah! I laugh in the face of danger.”

“If I remember correctly, you throw up in the face of danger.”

“It doesn’t matter. Sailing won’t be dangerous. It’ll be exciting.”

That night, I dream of a moonlit night on the Caribbean in the late Eighteenth Century. I am Blackbeard Borengasser, fearsome pirate, master helmsman, and captain of the Jolly Corndog. I and my crew of stout and stalwart sons of seadogs sail the seven seas. (Warning: Don’t try reading this sentence aloud.You’ll hurt yourself.) We’re in the pillaging and plundering business, sort of predecessors to the IRS. I wake up just as we’re swooping down on a ship full of personal injury attorneys.

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This is the way sailing works:

1. If there is a wind, you have two choices. You can go out quickly and return slowly, or go out slowly and return quickly.

2. If there is no wind, you have no choices. You just sit there thinking of all the more interesting things you could be doing instead, which is anything.

On our sailing trip, there is a brisk breeze.

With the wind at our back, we make good time, but after an hour or so, we decide to return.

To return, we have to “tack,” which is nautical lingo for “go zigzag.”

This is the slow part.

The most important words in tacking are “coming around". Someone yells, “Coming around!” and a half second later, an enormous pole comes sweeping across the boat.

This pole is called a “boom,” because that’s the sound it makes when it hits you in the head.

As it turns out, the lovely Mrs. Borengasser is right about the weather.

A storm begins moving in. The wind begins blowing so hard, I’m overcome with the urge to batten things down, mostly hatches.

The boat is leaning further to the right than Rush Limbaugh. All I can do is mumble, “Permission to go ashore? Permission to go ashore?”

After a couple of anxious hours, we make it back, only minutes ahead of a certified frog-choker of a storm.

Sailing has been a real learning experience.

Here’s a glossary of some sailing terms I learned:

Starboard: the righthand side of the boat. Unfortunately, this is a useless designation since the right side will continually change depending on which direction you’re facing.

Port: what to drink to calm your nerves after, or “aft.”

Mainsail: the main sail.

Jib: a smaller sail located starboard when you’re facing the drink holder.

Jiblet: a chicken gizzard.

Halyard: one of some three hundred various ropes hanging about your head like tinsel.

Flotsam and jetsam: what we almost became (also, a Vaudeville comedy team).

Exciting: dangerous.