Adventure

Sometimes readers, even some boaters, think sailing on the Atlantic in a small sloop must be terrifying. I point out that one rarely goes to sea until they are at least comfortable in heavy weather on inland waters. It's a simple matter of incremental adjustment.

I began my affair with water by building rafts as a kid; then I bought a twelve-foot aluminum fishing boat as a young adult. By my mid-thirties I had graduated to a small runabout with a canvas dodger, so I could at least remain dry when the weather tried to chase me off of Georgian Bay (Lake Huron). By the time I turned to white-water canoeing, I was pretty comfortable with most conditions.

The transition to a seven-ton Alberg 29 was another matter altogether. Suddenly, I couldn't just fend off a dock with my hand, and the potential for damage, or injury to others, meant I had to know what I was doing. I served my internship by crewing on various vessels under experieced skippers, first in local waters, and then at sea. Finally, and only when my sloop and I were ready, I sailed through the Great Lakes and down the St. Lawrence River to Sidney, Nova Scotia.

By the time we undertook the 400-mile crossing from Halifax to Boston, during which we endured a twenty-four-hour gale in the Gulf of Maine, I had been sailing for a decade. Of course I was concerned for my vessel and my crew, but I was far from being terrified.

In fact, I enjoyed the experience, and I learned a great deal. Often, when I sign a copy of "Too Cold for Mermaids" for someone, I write, "Adventure is found not in a fair wind, but rather in a raging tempest."