Sailor's Mind

Solstice seems like a good holiday for sailors to acknowledge. It’s all about the ebb and flow of our natural world. It names a background phenomenon that both ignores our desires and affects our lives.

One cool day recently I was leaning against the car waiting for my wife to mail a letter at the post office. The trees along the street were in the various end stages of mid November leaf dispersal. In New England this stage commonly means that the few individual leaves that still cling to branches, are doing loopy the loops in the breeze at the end of their curiously long stems.

Raynaud’s Phenomena (formally known as Raynaud’s syndrome) causes the extremities (fingers and toes, and less commonly, ears and nose) to temporarily turn white from loss of blood flow.  2.2% of women and 1.5% of men suffer from this condition and sailors who have it can lose their ability to handle their boat at their best level.

I hate to put the boat away for the New England winter. Each fall I’m faced with the option of frostbiting or laying up the Laser until next spring. I’ve done winter sailing seven or eight years; I love the cold; and I really enjoy the numerous starts I can get in a saltwater, frostbite series. When new sailors ask me what I’m going to do, I separate the question into, “What are you going to do Jay?” and “What should I (the new sailor) do?”

Research shows that when you walk in the dark or in an environment that is void of distinctive features you will walk in a circle. People blindfolded, in a gym, walk in a circle. People lost in the desert, walk in a circle. In order to make real forward progress we need to have a point of reference far enough out ahead that we track straight and we need a push to move our butt.

We have a number of Master’s-age-bracket Laser sailors in the club and it’s instructive to watch how they approach improving. I’m thinking particularly of the split between those that seem to be willing to tolerantly put in the time learning and those that complain.

Yesterday one of my sailing buddies was having a rough time on what should have been a fairly easy day for him. After a flip he quit the last race early and headed for the beach. I came in to find him sitting on the beach, half in the water with his Laser nosed up beside him. He was upset with himself – “I’m going to take up lying on an air mattress because I’m getting worse on this boat.” (All quotes will be changed to hide his inscrutable babblings.)

It starts in the rigging area – the looks out to the water where there is scant evidence of any wind activity, the mumbled opinions about whether the race committee should postpone, a low-energy level prevails instead of the usual anxiety tinged pace.

 To sail well you need to manage a challenging number of variables. When you have enough experience in the particular circumstances that you’re sailing in, and you’ve practiced your boat handling enough, the variables just seem to come at a pace you can manage. But let anything new pop up or let the wind begin to test your skill level and the variables will seem to bombard you. Without a structured approach to monitoring and managing the variables you are likely to miss something important.

Friday I started watching the weather for the Mascoma, NH Spring Laser regatta. I have enjoyed the regatta in the past years, the sailing is usually pretty good and the competition in the Master classes is tough. My Laser is so easy to trailer that I enjoy going to regattas all around New England. The only drawback is that I will end up driving a couple of hours up and back and so it becomes particularly important to be sure the weather will allow the regatta to be held.