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. To return, we
have to “tack,” which is nautical lingo for “go zigzag.” 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. As it turns out,
the lovely Mrs. Borengasser is right about the weather. 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.
With the
wind at our back, we make good time, but after an hour or so, we decide to
return.
This is the slow part.
This pole is called a “boom,” because that’s the sound it makes when it
hits you in the head.
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?”