An Introduction: Two Sailing Episodes

The Beginning

One spring day a friend from work named Tom invited me to go sailing. It was a sunny, warm Saturday when I drove from Keene in southwestern New Hampshire to a marina on Great Bay and the Piscataqua River in the eastern part of the state. I was in high spirits. I had never been sailing before and knew absolutely nothing about boats. But I was ready for an adventure.

I found Tom polishing what seemed to me to be a large sailboat. It was named Trull II, and he told me it was a 25-foot Cape Dory which I later discovered was a kind of a boat, much like a Ford is a kind of a car. I lent a hand with the cleaning until it was time for us to go out into the river. At that point I learned that we were going to take the boat down the Piscataqua River to Portsmouth Harbor and then into a small inlet named Pepperrell Cove where Tom had a permanent place for the boat. I cheerfully readied myself for the trip, grabbing my light jacket and a few other things from my car.

Tom started an outboard engine that sat in a well at the back of the boat and cast off the ropes that bound Trull II to the docks. He steered by moving a tiller which looked like a stick located in the center of the cockpit. We went into the river where there was a strong current that made the water churn and froth. (I later learned that the Piscataqua River is the third fastest navigable river in the world.) We struck out toward green and red cans that stood in the middle of a curve in the river in front of a large bridge. Tom explained that we had to go between the two cans because that was where the channel lay. The green can should be on our right side, the starboard side, and the red one should be on our left side, the port side. I silently tried to absorb as much information as I could and not to seem the novice I was.

Trull II chugged along valiantly through the turbulent waters. We passed between the cans toward the tall Memorial Bridge which soared above us when we went under it. I was having a wonderful time. The breeze was fresh, the water was a grey-blue, and the wooded shores revealed secluded homes every once in a while. Tom and I chatted about his boat and his personal sailing history. I learned that he had first sailed in New Orleans when he was in graduate school. He fell in love with the sport immediately and since then he had experimented with increasingly large boats until he purchased Trull II.

All of a sudden the engine sputtered and stopped. Tom turned to it quickly and tried to restart it, but he failed. The boat began to slide with the current toward the side of the river. I was so ignorant that I did not realize we were in a dangerous situation. Also Tom disguised his concern quite well, so I just sat there saying nothing, not wanting to distract him from dealing with the engine.

Then the boat crashed against something hard, and I was thrown on the floor of the cockpit. I quickly clambered to my feet and regained my seat as Tom cursed and said we were on the rocks. It certainly sounded like we were bumping against something. I peered over the side of the boat but could see nothing. I asked in a concerned way if they would damage the boat. Tom did not answer as he grabbed his radio and called, "May-day."

At this I became somewhat alarmed because may-day calls in the movies usually signaled something like the Titanic going down. I began to look around for a life preserver because I could not swim. Tom silently went down into the small cramped cabin and checked beneath the floor boards. He announced that we weren't taking on water and seemed to be relieved, so I relaxed somewhat.

Off in the distance I saw what I thought was a cute, little, red tugboat coming toward us. Its powerful engine moved it along rapidly and before too long its captain pulled it along side of us. Tom and he exchanged information and then secured Trull II to the tug's side after sandwiching rubber fenders between the two boats. However, the current was too strong, and it pushed the tugboat onto the rocks. Soon our two linked boats were bouncing up and down on the rocks with their captains cursing in unison.

The tugboat captain, who had his long blond hair pulled back in a pony tail, got on the radio and sent out another may-day. While we waited, Tom broke out a bottle of wine, filled plastic cups, and passed them around. The tug captain asked why I was so quiet and if I were afraid. In all truthfulness I answered that I was not. I was just trying to stay out of the way.

A powerboat appeared. The tug and powerboat captains conferred. Then a complicated maneuver took place. I found it hard to follow, but it resulted in springing both the tug and the sailboat free. The tugboat proceeded to lead us back to the marina where Tom tied the boat back on the dock. I finished my wine while Tom made arrangements to have the boat pulled out of the water and examined for damage. The boat was made of fiberglass, and the men figured that the rocks had taken gouges of glass out of the bottom of the boat. They did not believe the rocks had pierced the boat because Trull II still was not taking on water, which was a good sign. The manager of the marina studied the problem for a while, and then said he could get the boat back in the water within a few weeks.

Tom's face fell, and I could tell he was disappointed. He obviously really loved his boat and being on the water, and he saw this as a major setback. I was disappointed, too, because, although somewhat harrowing, my brief few hours on board the sailboat had been wonderful. I cannot say I absolutely fell in love with boating, as Tom had back when he was in his twenties. But I can say I was intrigued, perhaps as much by the beautiful river and the forests along its banks as by boating. Certainly being on the river gave me a fresh perspective of the attractions of the New Hampshire-Maine area.

However, as I thought back over the afternoon, what struck me most was the tugboat captain and Tom's expertise. They communicated with an entirely new and foreign vocabulary, and they used technology and a skill set I knew nothing about. I was not intimidated by the newness; rather, it fascinated me. I wondered if it would be possible for someone like me to learn to sail. Could I do this?

For what was left of the afternoon, Tom and I sat on board and talked about his involvement in sailing and where...