A Bracing Sail

The ache to go sailing left my chest as I hoisted sail, first the main and then the lapper in a gentle breeze off the shore. Around us, several of our mooring neighbours had been sailing over the holidays, now was our time. I came to love offshore winds as a much younger surfer. A morning westerly would have me bounding off to the beach in anticipation of smooth hollow waves. Years later when I sailed solo along this coast I discovered the offshore gale as a fine way to cover miles, fast, dry and smooth sailing.

I'm not particularly superstitious, but looking aloft to see an sports pair soaring across the breeze, filled me with warm fuzziness.  Heaving the mooring gear by the port quarter lifted us into gear, a silent haul on the sheets sent Bohemian off with soft sizzle of bow way before her.

A lull in the breeze at the neck of the cove was not unexpected, but today there was a slightly sinister air to it all. As Bohemian entered the narrows the entire waterway glasses over, voices of kayakers and birds carried across the waters. The body of grey cloud that had been slumbering low in the sky seemed to awaken, to rise overhead and begin flexing its muscles. Still ghosting along curlicues in the water abeam my sailor' s eye saw the first rufflings far off to the south. Ever hopeful I imagined fine sailing ahead, the need to prepare sail didn't trouble my mind.

As the first gusts arrived Bohemian would heel sharply, then she eased back and heel again, our course remained erratic in response to the gusty front edges of this new wind. Our fine craft was embarrassingly backwinded on several occasions as we searched for a closed hauled course only to have a healthy gust hit the lee bow and send the lapper askew. Each time the sails danced a frenzy and the rig groaned in in protest to such tomfoolery. In a short time the wind became more uniform , there was still too much of it though and the main's leech beat a tattoo for want of a few battens, while the lapper grew fat and pulled listing under the strain. Momentum gripped the ship the lee rail dipped low, and we surged purposefully to windward.As the gusts hit I would ease the sheets to lessen weather helm, but I thought of those FBs in San Francisco, Bohemian too was fighting back, equal to the task, her decks remained dry and she heeled according to her own needs.

As the wind became identifiably a 20 knot southerly, I mused that this type of raucous sailing would not be tolerated at sea. The prudent seaman would guard against straining ship and crew. Options I would take were to shorten sail, hand the lapper and set the working jib, and reef in the main, and while we were Gove to I'd slip below for a jacket and some water.  But today I made a conscious effort to work this boat that had lain idle on her mooring for too long.

We sailed about an island where two osprey perched, before running for home on Bohemian's finest point of sail. On the wind or beam on to the wind a Folkboat seems to wrestle within itself, keel vs sail pressure, but with a wind over her quarters, that hull sits flat and powerful and glides more freely. As we rounded the western shore of the island, sheets eased I gave a nod to the volcanic sentinels at the entrance to the port and their Tahitiesque silhouettes.

We laid a direct course for the mooring, but the wind strength rendered a downwind mooring pickup too risky. We ran down below the mooring and brought up into the wind to wash off speed and picked up the mooring gear on one take.

Bagging sails gave time to reflect on our microadventure; it was good, but the boisterous conditions  had highlighted a few problems that needed to be addressed before going offshore. Chief among them was the need to stow everyday tools and materials more securely, to batten the main and of course shorten sail before things get so lively. Headsail furler? Nah!