I sat on the docks in the late afternoon and watched the sailboats do figure eights. It made me smile.
I once had this crazy idea that I wanted to take up sailing. And when I get ideas I can’t be stopped. I don’t want to say that I’m stubborn. So I’m not going to say it.
I had always wanted to sail. I started looking in the classifieds for boats. I visited everywhere from Mobile to Panama City looking at them.
I finally found a twenty-six footer in Fairhope. It was old, and ugly, but seaworthy.
It was a big step for me. I’d never done anything notable except once, when I slid down a bannister with the wood grain facing the wrong way.
This does not give you the same exhilaration as sailing.
The man on the sailboat was waiting for me. I waltzed along the dock and I declared that I would buy his boat. Then, I handed him a check.
“But you haven’t even seen it yet,” he said.
“No, but I’ve seen enough bad boats to
know when I’ve seen a mediocre one.”
That man took me on my first voyage. I sort of discovered myself on that Fairhope water. I didn’t think it would be that easy to find yourself, but sometimes it is.
For three months, that kindhearted man gave me lessons. He taught me to raise the main, to trim the jib, and he taught me to sail single handed.
And after my first successful solo sail, he handed me a cigar and said, “I bought these for celebration.”
“No thanks,” I said. “I don’t smoke.”
“You do today.”
In the following years, I would use the boat with my wife, my dog, or some unfortunate friend. And I would demonstrate my newly acquired knowledge by sniffing my nose and saying things like:
“All hands on deck, secure the scuttlebutt on the…