SPIRIT
ON THE SAIL
Chapter Three
.Slip and Slide
The ocean sleeping beneath us is rousing with a furious yawn. Wind splattered mist suddenly covers Chubasco’s contours with streaking droplets. Cloaked in fog, the sea seems irritated by our intrusion. The aggravated giant slumbers no longer. Riding on an increasingly agitated ocean is no time to contemplate proof of God’s existence.
.
“Seriously Chubasco, did you invite one of your relatives?” The name of this thirty-two footer is the Spanish word for a sudden violent squall with strong winds and rain experienced off the South American Pacific coasts. Down there, those "Chubascos" are equatorial weather events, which usually contain lightning. Fortunately, our San Diego coastal winds seldom exceed thirty knots and only rarely generate lightning.
“Seriously Chubasco, did you invite one of your relatives?” The name of this thirty-two footer is the Spanish word for a sudden violent squall with strong winds and rain experienced off the South American Pacific coasts. Down there, those "Chubascos" are equatorial weather events, which usually contain lightning. Fortunately, our San Diego coastal winds seldom exceed thirty knots and only rarely generate lightning.
.
Nevertheless, my Chubasco’s mainsail needs to be reefed immediately. With the mainsail down and securely flaked on the boom the job, even without a crew, should be a cinch.
All I need to do is point Chubasco directly into the wind, lock the wheel in place, so I can leave the helm and climb onto the deck. The helm-lock serves as a brake holding the wheel in a stationary position so Chubasco doesn't straying off course. Meanwhile, I'll simply work my way alongside the boom, and tie the lower third of the mainsail to it at five designated locations.
Nevertheless, my Chubasco’s mainsail needs to be reefed immediately. With the mainsail down and securely flaked on the boom the job, even without a crew, should be a cinch.
All I need to do is point Chubasco directly into the wind, lock the wheel in place, so I can leave the helm and climb onto the deck. The helm-lock serves as a brake holding the wheel in a stationary position so Chubasco doesn't straying off course. Meanwhile, I'll simply work my way alongside the boom, and tie the lower third of the mainsail to it at five designated locations.
.
Gripping the helm-lock’s chrome knob, I give it a twist, and another, and then another…“it’s not working.” In the absence of passengers, I hear myself doing something a captain never does...express frustration. Even so, out of respect for Miss Chubby she only heard,
“That’s disappointing!"
Gripping the helm-lock’s chrome knob, I give it a twist, and another, and then another…“it’s not working.” In the absence of passengers, I hear myself doing something a captain never does...express frustration. Even so, out of respect for Miss Chubby she only heard,
“That’s disappointing!"
.
Oh well, there is more than one way to hold the helm in place. I just need two ropes. No problem, I always carry extra ropes in my sea bag. But I recall seeing extra rope in the cockpit seat-locker. “I’ll use what the rental company provided.”
.
Unfortunately, by the time I attach the ropes to opposing stern cleats, stretch the free ends across the cockpit, and apply offsetting tension to the helm spokes; the wind, rain, and waves have grown more violent, tossing Chubasco erratically up and down and side to side, all over the place. Commonly, the winds and waves come from the same direction but not now. They are coming hard from alternating directions. Not even a working helm-lock could hold Chubasco steady for long under these conditions.
.
Taking a deep breath, I remind myself, “This must be done, now!” Scrambling through the wind whipped, rain soaked, reeling deck; I cling to a place alongside the boom. While tying the first of the reef points, my right foot slips as Chubasco pitches and rowels. Hugging the mast, I feel both boots sliding.
.
“What is going on?” These marine boots are design to hold on wet surfaces. "My plans don't include sliding overboard and swimming to shore in a storm."
(In my haste I failed to even consider strapping on a life jacket or rigging up a safety harness.)
It's mid-winter, and the ocean water temperature today is sixty-five degrees Fahrenheit. A person swimming in these waters, without protective clothing, will experience hyperthermia and lose consciousness in less than two hours. I'm to busy to calculate overboard to shore swim-time..."I'm staying with you, Chuby, but what's with the slime? Did a dockhand apply some odd chemical when cleaning the deck?”
.
Like a spider climbing the wall of a porcelain sink, I cling to anything offering connection to the boat. Tying one reef I crawl back to the cockpit as the wind drives Chubasco broadside. Reaching the helm, I yank the slipknots from the wheel, then turn us head-to-wind again. An oily film now coats my fingers. “OK, where is this coming from?”
.
Dampened by ocean spray, one of the two ropes oozes some lubricating substance absorbed within its cords. Moisture has spread the slime everywhere. “No time to deal with that now.” Re-tensioning the lines (Ropes performing a nautical function are called lines) I stabilize the helm, climb topside again, tie the next reef point, as Chubasco swings off course in the mixed winds and waves.
Oh well, there is more than one way to hold the helm in place. I just need two ropes. No problem, I always carry extra ropes in my sea bag. But I recall seeing extra rope in the cockpit seat-locker. “I’ll use what the rental company provided.”
.
Unfortunately, by the time I attach the ropes to opposing stern cleats, stretch the free ends across the cockpit, and apply offsetting tension to the helm spokes; the wind, rain, and waves have grown more violent, tossing Chubasco erratically up and down and side to side, all over the place. Commonly, the winds and waves come from the same direction but not now. They are coming hard from alternating directions. Not even a working helm-lock could hold Chubasco steady for long under these conditions.
.
Taking a deep breath, I remind myself, “This must be done, now!” Scrambling through the wind whipped, rain soaked, reeling deck; I cling to a place alongside the boom. While tying the first of the reef points, my right foot slips as Chubasco pitches and rowels. Hugging the mast, I feel both boots sliding.
.
“What is going on?” These marine boots are design to hold on wet surfaces. "My plans don't include sliding overboard and swimming to shore in a storm."
(In my haste I failed to even consider strapping on a life jacket or rigging up a safety harness.)
It's mid-winter, and the ocean water temperature today is sixty-five degrees Fahrenheit. A person swimming in these waters, without protective clothing, will experience hyperthermia and lose consciousness in less than two hours. I'm to busy to calculate overboard to shore swim-time..."I'm staying with you, Chuby, but what's with the slime? Did a dockhand apply some odd chemical when cleaning the deck?”
.
Like a spider climbing the wall of a porcelain sink, I cling to anything offering connection to the boat. Tying one reef I crawl back to the cockpit as the wind drives Chubasco broadside. Reaching the helm, I yank the slipknots from the wheel, then turn us head-to-wind again. An oily film now coats my fingers. “OK, where is this coming from?”
.
Dampened by ocean spray, one of the two ropes oozes some lubricating substance absorbed within its cords. Moisture has spread the slime everywhere. “No time to deal with that now.” Re-tensioning the lines (Ropes performing a nautical function are called lines) I stabilize the helm, climb topside again, tie the next reef point, as Chubasco swings off course in the mixed winds and waves.
.
A stolen glance reassures me that our wandering journey has not created some additional peril. Thankfully, we are far enough off shore that no obstacles restrict our floundering path. Repeating this obstacle course three more times...at last, all the dashing to and from the boom has succeeded in securing all the reef points, and I regain control of the helm.
A stolen glance reassures me that our wandering journey has not created some additional peril. Thankfully, we are far enough off shore that no obstacles restrict our floundering path. Repeating this obstacle course three more times...at last, all the dashing to and from the boom has succeeded in securing all the reef points, and I regain control of the helm.
.
Hoist the Mainsail
At last I can raise the mainsail. This time Chubasco must not vary form head-to-wind or the main will get tangled in the lines of the “lazy-jack.”(The Lazy Jack is a pair of nets permanently attached to the mast and the boom that corral a descending mainsail bringing it to rest on the boom, rather than falling to the deck. It's just in the way when raising the sail.)
If Chubasco strays off-wind, the lazy-jack will tangle-up the main on its ascent.
.
"Here goes," I pull
the halyard, and it doesn't budge.
.
“Now what?”
.
Tracing the rigging I discover that someone has disconnected mainsail halyard from the mainsail, and used it as that halyard to flying those darn code flags that I have been so proud of. Normally decorative flags ride the aft stay on a separate halyard of its own, and definitely not attached to the mainsail’s halyard. I'd love to, but I can't legitimately
blame anyone for this predicament. It's my fault. I should have struck those ridiculous flags before casting off this morning.
“Now what?”
.
Tracing the rigging I discover that someone has disconnected mainsail halyard from the mainsail, and used it as that halyard to flying those darn code flags that I have been so proud of. Normally decorative flags ride the aft stay on a separate halyard of its own, and definitely not attached to the mainsail’s halyard. I'd love to, but I can't legitimately
blame anyone for this predicament. It's my fault. I should have struck those ridiculous flags before casting off this morning.
.
“Let’s get this over with.”
.
“Let’s get this over with.”
.
Preferring cold wet bare feet to slippery
boots, I kick them off. Then lower and disconnect those ridiculous flags. With one hand pulling the halyard, and the other grasping anything to stay aboard, climb to the deck again, and skate over the deck to
the boom, weave the wind jerked halyard through the flapping crisscrossed
lines of the lazy-jack, attach it to the mainsail.
.
Finally, the halyard
is readied, Chubasco is brought head-to-wind once more, and the helm re-tied. This time pulling the mainsail
halyard only hoists the sail as far as the uppermost connection of the
lazy-jack...it's jammed short of its prescribed height.
.
“Are you kidding me?”
.
While weaving the halyard through the lazy-jack, I mistakenly lead the halyard under the last uppermost lazy-jack line, thrashing some 30 to 35 feet above me. To correct it, the main must come down again, the halyard removen once more through the webbing of the lazy-jack, and reconnected correctly to the sail. Re-doing the same course corrections, untying/retying the wheel, slipping and sliding, lines shaking and jerking, with serious hanging-on, I repeat the task again.
Thankfully this time, the main glides to the proper height and instantly we are sailing.
“Are you kidding me?”
.
While weaving the halyard through the lazy-jack, I mistakenly lead the halyard under the last uppermost lazy-jack line, thrashing some 30 to 35 feet above me. To correct it, the main must come down again, the halyard removen once more through the webbing of the lazy-jack, and reconnected correctly to the sail. Re-doing the same course corrections, untying/retying the wheel, slipping and sliding, lines shaking and jerking, with serious hanging-on, I repeat the task again.
Thankfully this time, the main glides to the proper height and instantly we are sailing.
“Really, we are sailing!” instantly.
.
Stationing myself at the helm, belaying those oily-ropes, I regain Chubasco's bearings and my composure.
Stationing myself at the helm, belaying those oily-ropes, I regain Chubasco's bearings and my composure.
.
A moment for reflection gives me an opportunity to confess. "Chuby, do you know part of the reason I'm in your cockpit today was to commune with God, hoping to discover solid proof of God's mysterious spiritual existence. But you know, I can't honestly recall a single instance during this ordeal when I consciously
communicated with Him. Did I? I don't think so. It is possible I did,
and don't remember."
Was I so much in the moment that I simply forgot to seek God’s help? Was I so confident that He was with me, that I felt no need to speak to Him? I really do not know. I am certain of one thing. I did not command the winds and waves to be still. I would like to think, it was kinda like being too busy looking for five smooth stones for my giant-slaying sling.
"All I do know, there was no time to focus on proofing God’s existence. Yet, right now, I am more than ready to take this time to thank God for getting you and I through this mess."
Was I so much in the moment that I simply forgot to seek God’s help? Was I so confident that He was with me, that I felt no need to speak to Him? I really do not know. I am certain of one thing. I did not command the winds and waves to be still. I would like to think, it was kinda like being too busy looking for five smooth stones for my giant-slaying sling.
"All I do know, there was no time to focus on proofing God’s existence. Yet, right now, I am more than ready to take this time to thank God for getting you and I through this mess."
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