Carol Newman Cronin's Blog, page 20
February 10, 2022
When It’s Right to Ignore the Facts
Recently, I had to ignore the answer a friend gave me—even though I’m sure she’s quite right—because it just didn’t serve the story I wanted to write. Fortunately, fiction writers aren’t expected to always tell the truth; our only obligation is to make whatever story we weave believable.
Here’s what happened.
When Eliza Malloy, mother of James (the main character in Ferry to Cooperation Island) first stepped up to narrate my 2021 Holiday story, I didn’t yet know her very well. I did know quite a bit about James, though—and I quickly realized that his mother knew where he got that scar on his left temple; something James never would’ve told her himself.
So then I had to figure out HOW she’d found out.

The only other person who knew what had happened was James’ ex-girlfriend—and she’d been his mother’s loyal penpal. So I asked my friend (who also happened to be a mother): would a mom keep writing to her son’s ex-girlfriend, after they broke up? “Definitely not without telling the son,” this straightforward person responded.
Hmm. That truth didn’t serve the story at all… so after some thought, I chose to ignore that inconvenient truth and soldier on.
Once I got to know Mrs. Malloy a bit better, I realized that she was quite different from my friend; not devious, exactly, but much more interested in her son’s life details than he was in sharing them. Since she valued her letters from the ex-girlfriend too much to give them up, she kept writing back—even after the two split up. Though she wasn’t particularly proud about this, the behavior seemed completely justified to her—and therefore, to me.
I didn’t think any of this detail would matter very much, but as I polished the holiday story I realized that the ending hinged on Mrs. Malloy’s private knowledge —because the guilt that she knows more than she’s telling shapes her interaction with her son. If I hadn’t ignored my friend’s advice, I never would have realized that.
Fiction has to be believable, but it doesn’t have to stick to the “facts.” What’s true for one straightforward friend might be totally false for a less straightforward character—and that’s a very good thing.
Now, did I achieve my goal of writing a believable story, despite ignoring the facts? Let me know by email, or in the comments below. Thanks for reading!
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February 3, 2022
Sailing Street Dance: StAR Regatta
For anyone who thinks one-design sailing is all about white sails, windward-leewards, and winning, here’s something completely different: the Street Art Regatta (StAR). On February 9, a fleet of handpicked Opti sailors will hoist hand-painted sails and then tack and jibe through a carefully choreographed routine off the Lauderdale Yacht Club docks, creating a dance of colorful canvases.
Lauderdale Yacht Club Sailing Foundation teamed up with Grace Arts Center to create this unique combination of sailing and artwork. And after sailing, five of the gorgeous one-of-a-kind sails—each different on port and starboard—will be auctioned off to support the Foundation’s scholarship program.

“Sailing teaches competency,” StAR co-chair Connie Commette says. “It also teaches teamwork—and lifelong friendships! These kids can learn all they want in their classrooms and on the computer, but with sailing they’re hands-on, navigating a boat on their own. And the Foundation makes it possible for kids who couldn’t otherwise afford it to get that experience.”
Connie and I are a perfect example of the lifelong friendships sailing creates. We met at my very first Snipe Worlds in 1993, and one animated discussion after racing soon inspired a well-received Sailing World article. Our conversations always inspire my own creativity, and I like to think they also help spark Connie’s seascapes—even though her paintings don’t include boats.
Last year, I watched jealously from my New England desk as Connie combined two great passions—art and competitive dinghy sailing—into helping turn the first StAR into a visual feast of skills. Over 200 people watched Opti sailors set art into motion; the video makes it easy to understand why this year’s event is predicted to be even bigger.
The sail-murals are all one-of-a-kind works created by nationally and internationally recognized artists. My personal favorite is from Tom Rossetti, who’s represented by New River Fine Art in Fort Lauderdale. I can’t wait to see all of his colors dancing among the other sails.

I’ll be watching this year’s StAR from my New England desk once again—jealous of everyone lining the Intercoastal Waterway to cheer on the well-decorated and well-handled Optimists. Maybe, in addition to raising money for a worthy cause, this innovative event will prove to some of those spectators that one design racing is more than white sails, windward-leewards, and winning? Optis can be a visual vehicle for street art—and raise the money needed to help future sailors make lifelong friendships.
Even if (like me) you can’t make it to Lauderdale Yacht Club for the action, you can still help support the area’s future sailors by making a donation. There will be a live link to the auction, and dinner tickets are still available; any amount is welcome. The future sailors (and artists) of Fort Lauderdale thank you!
Have you seen an equally creative use of sails, or another form of art combined with sailing? Share it in the comments below, or send me an email. I read every single one, with thanks.
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January 27, 2022
Discussion Questions for Ferry to Cooperation Island
Is your book group looking for its next great read? Please consider Ferry to Cooperation Island—and, if you’re meeting within driving range of Narragansett Bay (or online), I might even drop by!
Most book groups have plenty to say but often have trouble structuring their discussions. If that sounds familiar, here are ten Discussion Questions that cover what I consider the most important themes in FERRY. (FYI this post does include spoilers, so if you prefer, read the first chapter instead.)

1. There are six point of view (POV) characters: James, Courtney, Lloyd, Parker, Mavis, and Owen. Who is your favorite, and why?
2. Were multiple POVs an effective way to tell this story? Why or why not?
3. Was there a character you would’ve liked to hear more (or less) from?
4. There are also several background characters: Barb the Baker, Anna the Artist, Will the Writer, Patty and Billy. And of course Joe and his mother, Mémé, and Dean Moreland. Who did you find most/least memorable? Did you want to hear more (or less) about any of them?
5. The Homer S. Morgan is definitely a bit odd compared to most ferries. Was the layout clear? If not, what should’ve been better explained?
6. Did you think the sit-in would be an effective response to the golf course proposal? Why/why not?
7. Why do you think Parker Dane advertises the view of Skye from the widow’s walk? Did you “believe” any of the sightings? If so, which one(s)?
8. Was the ending satisfying? Why/why not?
9. If you found yourself on Brenton Island, who or what would you be most curious about?
10. Which house on Brenton would you choose for your summer vacation?
I’d love to hear your answers—because reader input will definitely help me finish the sequel. So even if you don’t choose FERRY for your next book group read (or you already have), feel free to share your answers by email. And definitely let me know in the comments below if you think of another question.
Thanks!
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January 20, 2022
Key West: Memories of a Newbie
Greetings, all. I must admit to being a bit distracted today; in order to write this blog post, I had to tear myself away from Walter Cooper’s mouth-watering photos of what’s now called The Southernmost Regatta. Crystal-clear waves, cool boats—there’s no need to geo-tag a Key West race photo.
Sailors of a certain age all think of “Key West” not just as a destination, but as a time-stamp: the event that kickstarted each sailing year. From the late 1980s until about five years ago, Key West Race Week (KWRW) was the place to be in mid-January for any sailor lucky enough to score a ride. Until it all got too pricey and too crowded… and instead we had to somehow make do with Dry-uary.
A year ago, in the midst of my first-ever adult sailing-free winter, Sailing Inc. announced a revitalized annual trek to the Southernmost point in the U.S.A. So today, Walter’s photos are sparking memories of my very first Key West. Which, in hindsight, kickstarted a crucial personal progression: from wide-eyed newbie to both Olympian and novelist.

After an eye-opening week of sailing at the J/24 Midwinters in Miami (and breakfast with Vince Brun most mornings), heading home to shovel snow and feed the woodstove seemed like a very bad idea. A new sailing friend offered a ride south instead, so I climbed into a rattly van and headed to Key West—even though I had no promised ride or place to stay. The adventures of a twenty-something!
According to The New York Times archives, KWRW 1990 was sponsored by Audi—though only as a footnote to the far more important SORC, a twelve-day circuit that combined day racing and overnights from St. Pete to Fort Lauderdale. “The trend in sailboat competition today favors day races and new handicap rules,” Barbara Lloyd wrote in February of that year. “[KWRW] has grown substantially since the first series in 1988.” She claims that 120 sailboats competed, which sounds about right. (Read more in the aptly-named Times Machine.)
Finding my peopleI don’t remember Audi’s support, but I will never forget Ted Hood (Junior)’s kind invitation to join his father’s crew onboard Blue Robin. The Little Harbor 48 wasn’t exactly a racing machine, but it did have an innovative roller-furling boom—and a plush interior, which meant I scored my very own cabin. Thirty-two years later, my only memory of the sailing was one fateful jibe; I narrowly missed being carried over the side by the mainsheet—with all other eyes on the boat looking forward. Ever since, I’ve wondered just how long it would’ve taken for anyone to notice I’d gone swimming.
Ted Hood Senior was already past his SORC-winning years, but he set a serious tone onboard that balanced professionalism with realistic expectations. After sailing each day, I boat-gawked and drank beer with all my newfound friends; a few were “hired guns” who sailed full time, but most, like me, were only wishing they did. For all of us, priorities were as crystal-clear as the water out on the race course; not to party so hard that we missed the next day’s dock start.
Back to the cold white northI longed to stay in this regatta-focused world, but I’d already reached the southernmost point—and I had just enough money left for a plane ticket home. So when Key West folded up its tent, I regretfully headed north again. A week later, already tired of feeding the woodstove, I called around until I found a ride for the next big regatta—the direct result of all the friends I’d made in Key West. Like catching waves, it’s always easiest to grab your next crewing opportunity while still riding the high of the last one; a truth that survives to this day.
With another regatta to look forward to, I also realized I could escape back to that tropical paradise right away—via my imagination. I began writing a story about a sailor who grumpily returns home to New England’s snow and ice after a not particularly impressive regatta… though it eventually morphed into something quite different. Looking back now, I can see a direct line from that first Key West to my first (unpublished) novel.

I’m still friends with many of the sailors I met that week, though no one remembers it as well as I do. Thirty-two years from now, most of the sailors in Walter’s photos won’t remember much of this very first Southernmost Regatta, either. But I like to imagine that on one of those boats, there’s some newbie crew who hitched a ride to Key West—and then was lucky enough to sail with the 21st century equivalent of Team Hood. If so, maybe this year’s event will also help inspire an Olympic adventure, or a novel—or both.
Thanks to Sailing Inc. for revitalizing such a memorable regatta. And thanks to Walter Cooper for reviving so many visceral memories of my own racing and writing foundations (and for permission to use his photos). Most of all, thanks to both Ted Hoods: you gave me the life-changing gift of belonging, in a world I now call home.
And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna go drool over the rest of Walter’s images. Meanwhile, do you have any Key West memories? If so, please share them in the comments below, or drop me an email. I read every single one, with gratitude.
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January 13, 2022
Trusting Myself—and My Writing Process
To start off my first yoga class of 2022, instructor Liz Oliver set an intention that she gently suggested we apply to the next hour—or maybe to the entire new year: Trust Yourself. A few days later, I sat down at my desk to begin a shiny new year of writing—and realized it applied there as well.

I accomplished a lot in 2021, including the three milestones I wrote about a few weeks ago. What I didn’t finish was the first draft of my next novel. Even if I hadn’t had a busier year than expected, it was probably never a realistic goal; my story development process just can’t be packaged up and spit out over a set series of morning writing sessions. Like a rich stew, it has to simmer without too much active attention, while I focus on something besides writing: working with my hands, or navigating around a race course.
I feel like I know my characters well, but they still shy away from obvious scrutiny, appearing most clearly at the very edges of my vision. It’s hard to describe, and even harder to let them come to me on their own schedule—especially when they are just as likely to lead me astray as to point me toward The End.
I keep thinking that by book number five I should be “better” at directing these headstrong folks. But the best days of writing are when they are directing their own stories. So even though “better” might mean “deeper,” it certainly doesn’t mean “faster.”
Cry Me a Winding RiverI’ve written about this before, of course, attempting to explain how my imagination works. For me, story development is like navigating a winding and many-branched river without a chart: I know there’s a main channel that leads to The End, but at this stage it’s impossible to differentiate that route from all the tempting tributaries that don’t actually lead anywhere. On my best days, I understand that dead ends are a necessary part of honing a character’s true motivation; on my worst days, I berate my inefficient process—which is, of course, about as useful as berating myself for being right-handed.
For the past year, aided and abetted by an Advanced Novel Planning course, I’ve been trying to develop a more efficient workflow. Again, I’ve tried this before, back when I was struggling to finish the first draft of Ferry to Cooperation Island. It didn’t work then, either; perhaps I could’ve saved myself some 2021 aggravation by rereading a 2011 blog post that describes my post-outlining frustrations as “when my story drifted onto the rocks.” After two weeks away from that project (another similarity to right now), I realized: “No matter how efficient it might seem or what I call myself, outlining obviously doesn’t work for me.” (Read more in Labels, Float Plans, and Writer’s Block)
New Year, Old TricksSo here I am again, at the start of another shiny new year, acknowledging that my not-particularly-shiny approach to story creation is the only way I will finish the next novel. Others backed me up on this, of course, as soon as I shared my frustration. “Books take the time they need to be written,” my agent sagely advised. “Don’t beat yourself up, but don’t let the project go dormant either,” a writer friend added. “Hard writing, easy reading,” Blue Robinson reminded. And finally, at the dawn of 2022, Liz Oliver placed her cherry of advice on the very top of my writerly struggles: Trust Yourself.
Writing as an act of faithIn some yoga practices, Liz explained, the front of the body is considered the ego; the back is our faith, because we can’t see it. During the class, we repeatedly reached for our raised back foot—an act of faith, since we can’t see those fingers grabbing that instep. (For more info on Liz and her studio, visit Island Heron Yoga.)
As a writer, I have to trust my own grab for that next plot point. Even though I can’t see it coming or describe how the connection finally happens, I have to trust the process—even though it will undoubtedly include many more dead ends.
So as I sit down at my old desk to begin a shiny new work year, I am taking Liz’s advice to heart. Whatever I accomplish each morning, I will Trust Myself to write a book I’m truly proud of. It worked for the last four books, and it will, eventually, work for this one—though it will also, of course, take far, far longer than I think it “should.”
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January 6, 2022
Augie Diaz: 50 Years of Lucky AND Good
Want some inspiration to keep racing dinghies even after cashing your first Social Security check? Look no further. Augie Diaz first won the Snipe Western Hemisphere and Orient Championship in 1972, sailing with his father (known, quite respectfully, as “Old Man” Diaz). Last fall, Augie won the Westerns again (this time with Barbie Brotons). That’s a forty-nine year span between regatta victories—ample time to rack up several other equally impressive titles along the way.

When I sat down with Augie in September, during a postponement at the 2021 Westerns, I started off with the most obvious question: how do you keep winning for five decades in a class where the unpublished motto is “she who hikes the hardest goes the fastest”? It all boils down to luck, he replies—and also to good crews. Of course that’s his answer; it always is. But after sailing against him for more than twenty years, I know just how much hard work goes into creating that “luck.” Fortunately, we have time to dig a bit deeper before the AP comes down.
Not just winning racesOne less than obvious fact: the guy has a big heart. He’s always helping another new sailor get into the Snipe—and then helping them to get faster. Generations of sailors have joined the class because of the Diaz family; they stick around for its unique combination of competition and camaraderie, certain—partly thanks to Augie’s example—that there will always be more to learn.
There’s more to Augie than just Snipe sailing, of course. There’s the Star Worlds he won in 2016; he’s the oldest guy to ever win a gold star. And that thirteen years of not-sailing when his sons were in need of a Little League coach—a period he refers to as “slavery,” before adding that it also created a bond as tight as the one he has with his own father.
By the time he started sailing again in 1999, Augie’s perspective had completely changed; he still wanted to win, but now he was sailing for fun rather than trying to go to the Olympics. In 2002, he won the Snipe Westerns with Jon Rogers—thirty years after he and Old Man won it the first time. So his 2021 victory makes Augie the only three-time winner of this prestigious international regatta.

Is there anyone else in the sailing world who can boast a fifty-year competitive lifespan? If so, I need to interview them too—please make your suggestions in the comments below, or by email. Meanwhile, find your inspiration to keep racing sailboats by reading Augie’s profile in full. Thank you Seahorse, and enjoy!
Previous Seahorse profilesDawn Riley: Setting the Standard
Clicks of Chance: Onne van der Wal
Just Say Yes: Stan and Sally Honey
Rod Davis: Why You Need His Wisdom in 2021
Rod Johnstone: An Amazing Legacy of Yacht Designs
A Final Conversation with Harry Anderson
Vince Brun Profile in Seahorse
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December 30, 2021
2021: My Top Three Milestones
No matter where you are in the world, 2021 was a challenging year. As I look back on the past twelve months, though, I’m struck by how much I’ve grown as both a writer and a sailor—despite that sailing-free winter. So as an antidote to all the ongoing uncertainties as we ring in 2022, I thought it would be fun to note my top three milestones before the sun rises on a brand new year.

Kim and I finished fourth at the Snipe North Americans and ninth at the Western Hemisphere & Orient Championship, our best finishes ever at an international level. This was our eleventh season sailing Snipes together, and I continue to be amazed by what fun it is to spend time with such a strong teammate—both on and off the water. Read more: 4 Tips for a Terrific Team
2. Best writing compliment everProfiles for Seahorse Magazine gave me the excuse to chat with four iconic leaders in sailing. It was enormous fun to interview Stan and Sally Honey, and months later I’m still riding high from an offhand remark Stan made: “I always read your columns first. Along with Rod [Davis] and Paul [Cayard].”
I also interviewed Onne van der Wal and Dawn Riley, who each shared some great stories—and brought my grand total to nine Seahorse profiles. Look for two more early in 2022.
3. Biggest client baseSeveral of you reached out this year asking for my help, and mostly I’ve been able to say yes. It’s a fantastic challenge to juggle so many different priorities and meet so many deadlines; I’ll be writing more in 2022 about what works (and what doesn’t) for this one-woman writing operation.
There were losses, too2021 wasn’t all sunshine and victory laps, of course. We said goodbye to my sister-in-law, Laurie Ann Cronin, at the end of October. Several other acquaintances will never cross another starting line or read another book, and two close friends are staring down a health-challenged 2022. I’m trying to honor each of these as an inspiration for something I can control: Find My Joy in Every Single Day.
Full Sail AheadI’m sure 2022 will have its challenges, but in keeping with the glass-half-full approach I’ll close with two very exciting plans. 1. I’ve scheduled both racing and wingfoiling adventures this winter. 2. I’m working with the Star Class on a book that will be published next summer. Stay tuned (or Subscribe) for future updates.
I am blaming that incredibly fun Star project for slowing down work on the promised sequel to Ferry to Cooperation Island… but I hope/plan to have more news on that in 2022 as well.
Thank youI’m so grateful to take for granted a supportive life partner, a warm house, my full belly, friends and laughter, and of course getting out on the water year round. I’m also grateful to all of you for making time for my musings each week; this concludes my seventh year of posting every Thursday. Another milestone!
Please join me in raising a glass to a clear and bright 2022, and let me know in the comments or by email what milestones you’re celebrating from 2021. Cheers!
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December 23, 2021
O Little Town of Brenton: My Gift to You
For the past few years, I’ve written a short story as a holiday gift to my readers. This one is narrated by James Malloy’s mother, and it takes us back to a stormy Christmas Eve ten years before Ferry to Cooperation Island begins. We get to listen in on some of my favorite Christmas carols… though one of the island’s most devoted singers can’t actually carry a tune.

Like all the best gifts, this one brought me even more joy than it hopefully will give you. Spending time with Eliza Malloy (as well as several other folks you’ve already met) has definitely enriched the characters who’ve gathered together for the first draft of FERRY’s sequel. I can’t wait to share that next story, but please be patient… it’s going to be a while before it’s ready for publication.
Meanwhile, I’ve inserted some musical breaks into this year’s story as suggested spots to refill your hot toddy. So curl up in front of the fire and enjoy!
Thanks for reading, and please let me know what you think—either in the comments below, or by email. I really appreciate all the feedback you’ve sent this year; I’m looking forward to even more in 2022.
May you find your own fresh joy this holiday season—even if the weather is as stormy as it was for Eliza.
Merry merry to all!
Previous storiesThe post O Little Town of Brenton: My Gift to You appeared first on Carol Newman Cronin.
December 16, 2021
Creativity’s Inevitable Hills and Valleys
Lately I’ve been splitting my writing time between fiction and fact. I’ve written before about how those challenges differ; today, I want to share the commonalities of writing a first draft. Because whether I’m trying to tell the truth or make it up as I go along, there’s a surprising inevitability to the hills and valleys of creating every single story—no matter how long or short they are.
Hill: Best Thing EverI always start off thinking this next piece is going to be the best thing I’ve ever written. Length doesn’t matter; neither does subject matter. The possibilities are seemingly infinite. And it’s going to include every unused anecdote, memory, and fun fact that seems even mildly relevant.
Note: this false confidence is absolutely necessary, because otherwise I’d never start anything.

(With apologies to The Princess Bride)
About a quarter of the way through the first draft, I always start to wonder what this story is “about”—because it can’t, in fact, include everything I dreamed up while I was climbing that “best thing” hill. I have to make choices, and in doing so I winnow the story down to one direction. For a 3000 word profile, that process takes a few hours. For a 75,000 word novel, that takes… well, I’ll let you know in a year or two.
Note: This is when I realize it’s going to be completely terrible and wonder why I ever committed to writing it.
Hill: Finding the actual sparkBecause I have made a commitment (to an editor, or just to myself), I keep slogging through… and somewhere around the halfway point, I stumble onto some tiny quote or event that points me in the right direction. Once I’ve found my “about”, the rest is just a matter of selecting the right details and anecdotes (or maybe, for fiction, creating a few) so the story moves forward toward its “inevitable” conclusion.
Note: There’s still a lot of work to do.
More to comeI’m not saying this is the most efficient way to create, and there are certainly plenty of valleys and hills ahead… which is why I’m not pulling any life lessons out of this post. But the next time I fall into the creative Pit of Despair, it will help to recognize it as an inevitable part of the process—the first step to figuring out what, in fact, this particular story is really all about.
How about you—got a process you don’t necessarily like but must go through every time you create something new? Share it in the comments below, or drop me an email. I read and appreciate every single one (from actual humans, anyway). Thanks for reading!
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December 9, 2021
6 Valuable Lessons from Learning to Wing Foil
In the fall of 2020, after the boats were put away for the winter, we went on several afternoon drives around Narragansett Bay as a much-needed escape from our home offices. One day, we spotted two people paddling small surfboards against a stiff northwest breeze, trying to get back to their launching area—and dragging what looked like giant butterflies behind them. “Wingfoiling,” Paul told me matter-of-factly, adding, “It’s taking over.”
Those two sailors were obviously just learning, but on other drives we spotted more advanced riders—and I became increasingly mesmerized. The sail area is supported by two inflated bladders, Paul explained; a big one along the leading edge, and a shorter one perpendicular to it. It seemed like a very appealing way to get out on the water and try this foiling thing.

But winter was already looming, and with a personal travel ban in place it was hardly the time to take up a new water sport. So I put away the dream, bracing for its inevitable return in February—when all of my craziest ideas seem most appealing—and fully expecting all thoughts of winging to fade away again by spring, as other sailing opportunities returned.
Instead, I spent several afternoons last summer jealously watching a few neighbors zoom around the outer harbor. The photo below was taken on a sparkling September day—and it’s the same guy we’d spotted paddling back to the beach, the previous October. From wing-flailing to buzzing the fleet in less than a year!
His enviable confidence renewed my interest, but unlike the Snipe there were no fleet loaners to try out. So a few weeks later (as soon as my final regatta of 2021 was over), I splurged on new gear. Within a month, I had my very first giggle-inducing flight.

And now that the season has ended, I’ve put together my top six lessons from climbing this very steep learning curve.
1. Invest in good equipmentI’ve written before about the benefits of buying better equipment than you think you “deserve.” Wingfoiling has developed very quickly, so instead of buying year-old technology I took Paul’s advice and ordered the latest gear. The very first time I flew my wing—standing in an open field, to minimize the variables—was only the second time I’d ever held one, but I could already appreciate how much more stable it was than the previous year’s model. I was also instantly addicted to the way every micro shift and puff altered the pull on my arms: I am mast and boom, as well as sheet and guy. And I loved having the wings of a butterfly.

Taking those wings out on the water more than doubled the vector-variables. Instead of solid grass underfoot, I now had to balance on a board only half the length of my SUP. Again, Paul’s recommendation of a big floaty board (by wing standards, at least) meant that at least it wasn’t sinking underneath me. And it only took a few runs on my knees to figure out how to stand up—the first of several huge milestones.
3. Video is a great learning toolWhile sailing and paddling skills definitely apply, winging requires a totally new set of instincts. Even the most subtle shifts and puffs change the wing’s tug and balance. And moving my front (or back) foot an inch in any direction could either help the board transition up onto the foils—or send me into a face plant. My brain could only absorb so many inputs while my hands and feet were active too, so it really helped to watch videos of others learning. What a luxury to reinforce what I’d felt on the board that afternoon with an evening lesson in the dry safety of our living room, analyzing how others had worked through the same challenges.
4. A partner makes it a lot more funSharing the process with Paul is a real treat for many reasons. He already has two years of windsurf-foiling skills, so there’s a ready supply of advice for when I can’t quite master that next step. And, like doublehanded sailing, it’s just a lot more fun when you have a buddy to share both thrills and spills. We’d each whoop and holler when we saw the other rise out of the water—and then laugh at the inevitable wipeout, knowing that we’d be next.
5. Old dogs can learn new tricks, but it’s harderLearning new skills is extremely humbling, and after a completely unexpected crash early on, I wondered if I was really up for all the effort required to master this new sport. I’m sure it’s not the last time I will wonder that… but what will keep me coming back is the simple joy of feeling wind vectors pulling me across the water, plus the ongoing challenge of learning to fly.
6. Mistakes are the best way to learnAlmost exactly a year to the day after watching those two newbies paddling their wings back upwind, we launched from the same beach in what turned out to be too much breeze for me—and I found myself paddling back upwind across the same puffy patch of water. Matching conditions to wing size is a major part of the learning curve in this very weather-dependent sport, and each mistake made me better able to assess from the beach which wing I should rig—or whether to come back another day.
On our final day of winging for this year, I got up on the foil twice for about ten seconds of controlled flight—as well as some uncontrolled giggling. It felt like excellent progress, and I look forward to continuing up the learning curve over the winter. Maybe, by the time September glistens again, you’ll even see me out buzzing around the harbor, in complete control.

Here’s the YouTube channel I found most helpful. If you just want to understand “why” it’s so addicting, watch Rachael Miller’s video.
What I’m ridingArmstrong FG Wing SUP Foilboard (6’4″ long)Armstrong A+ System Carving Freeride Foil Package CF2400 V2Ozone Wasp V2 Wing 5m (8-12 knots)Ozone Wasp V2 Wing 4m (12-16 knots)What I’m wearing (water and air 55-65 degrees F)Zhik hydrophobic topZhik titanium top Lightweight spray top3mm Gill short-arm wetsuit (I’ve had this suit since 2002!)Zhik helmetZhik lifejacket (soon to be replaced with their impact jacket)Showerspass socksZhik bootsThe post 6 Valuable Lessons from Learning to Wing Foil appeared first on Carol Newman Cronin.