"The Rime of the Ancient Mariner"
Samuel Taylor Coleridge
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| Pleasant Bay Christopher Seufert Photography (Google Images) |
"Cape Cod Writer" serves as a moniker for my blog. I rarely write about the Cape, however, to save morsels for my books. This week, I couldn't resist blogging about a favorite sport which I've never fully pursued: sailing. First Mate to my Captain, a.k.a. boyfriend, I still steer without effort, but work the mainsail sheets minimally. Trepidation, maybe, chronic challenges more so; working the lines of a Flying Scot (see photo below) serves me much better than tedious prescribed physical therapy.
How did this all come about? My boyfriend joined Pleasant Bay Community Boating , a non-profit organization which, through generous subsidies, offers young would-be sailors lessons and locals a chance to sail at significantly reduced rates. Membership includes all the benefits without the hassle of maintaining, mooring and rigging the boats.
We had previously chosen the Flying Scot for space, as the two of us being tall barely fit into a sunfish. Nevertheless, my spontaneous guy recently suggested we try the sunfish this day as the winds were gusting to 10 knots plus. He felt the need for speed. So, off we went to the boathouse where outside a young man attached the rigging, the captain assisted, and shoved us off into the the seemingly workable waters of Pleasant Bay.
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| Flying Scot Sailboat (Google Images) |
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| Sunfish (Google Images) |
That battle won, we continued: the sea spray catching us and white caps lifting and rocking us until I had to shimmy my way into the cockpit. Ducking and leaning whenever my fellow sailor had to come about, we were having a blast.
Boyfriend had joked before we had set sail: "Wouldn't it be fun to capsize on this hot, muggy day?" I had halfheartedly agreed, unaware that the sunfish we had been given required brute strength to right the craft. Later into our journey, my boyfriend reiterated that he had been teasing about tipping the boat: an admission that Poseidon must have noted for the wind picked up just as we came about, with both of us leaning aport. The boat flipped slowly as if suddenly thrust into zero-gravity, giving time for me to see my boyfriend fall forward to starboard and tumble into the water and to observe my jackknifed exodus to port into the Bay. I recovered quickly--we both wore life jackets--and like a bobbing apple I waited for a signal from my boyfriend that he had survived unscathed. Then, I used my breaststroke arms to part the waters and reach the other side to join him.
It took both of us to right the sunfish--by then my body had had enough, though I wouldn't admit it to my boyfriend. Knowingly, he gave me one discreet and then a second indiscreet boost into the cockpit. He then followed as he climbed aboard without assistance. We laughed at the accidental misadventure. Neither one of us acknowledging the what if scenarios...or possible news highlights as a great white had been spotted in Pleasant Bay earlier this year.
No, seafarers that we are nothing would constrain our good time. Zigzagging our way across the Bay, I laughed as our sunfish caught the wind and we passed a tern lumbering along in no hurry to catch us. Other boats, including Flying Scots, catboats, fishing and motor boats darted across from south to north as we stayed our course from west to east and returning east to west. No one got near us, though my shrieks of pleasure may have kept curious onlookers at bay.
Yes, by the time we mariners ensconced on our craft washed ashore, my body rebelled, so I transitioned from First Mate to landlubber and slowly made my way up the hill to grab a towel and sit in the sun as my captain disassembled the rigging. Outside the clubhouse, I welcomed the warmth for the fickle Cape weather had changed to cooling breezes and overcast skies. Our timing had been perfect. Nowhere in the world could I be happier.
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| Black-browed Albatross (Google Images) |
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