Opportunities and Lessons
My first exposure to boating was a twelve foot aluminum boat my father bought for fishing during the family's summer vacations. I kept tropical fish, so we named it Guppy. It was powered by a 14 horse Evinrude outboard older than I was and I spent many enjoyable winter hours tuning and painting that engine. We eventually sold the outfit to a neighbour when our family, growing older, lost interest in camping vacations.
Years later now, I still remember zooming about the lake, racing other kids and generally learning how to handle a small boat and having a great time. Those lessons stuck with me too.
Like many others, I learned to sail on the ubiquitous Laser during my university years. I next had the use of a Petrel for a summer while working as a swimming instructor in Northern Ontario, learning a lot about sailing from that boat. That Petrel by the way belonged to a fellow who only had one leg and who sailed it extensively on the small lake. This was long before disabled sailing – or disabled sports of any sort – became a cause célèbre.
A few years after this, one legged cancer victim Terry Fox ran halfway across Canada to raise funds for cancer research, doing a marathon equivalent of 26 miles daily. He only quit when his cancer returned halfway across the country and he died without finishing his goal of running across Canada.
A life lesson here: I had the opportunity to drive an extra fifty miles and meet Terry while driving through Northern Ontario. I thought about it and chose not to. I have ever since regretted not meeting one of Canada's true heroes – as opposed to hockey 'stars' or rock singers. When life hands you an opportunity like this, don't let callow youth or jaded experience hold you back. True heroes are rare. Grab the chance. Opportunities are fleeting, like falling stars they're gone in an instant. Regrets about what might have been stay with you.
Back to sailing. In 1978, with my minimal experience in, on (and underneath) the Laser and Petrel, I convinced my fiancée that we should honeymoon on a 25 Bayfield, sailing from Killarney into the North Channel and on to Little Current on Manitoulin Island. Why wouldn't she do this; I had talked her into marrying me, hadn't I?
My two most important lessons on that first cruise were to remember to tie off your halyards, especially if you're a newlywed, as they will clang against the mast all night if you don't; and to always be certain that the drain plug is in your dinghy before you drunkenly row back to your boat from a bonfire party. Oh yes, also make certain that the boat whose mast light you are (drunkenly) rowing towards is yours before you stumble aboard it at midnight in the stygian darkness of a Georgian Bay night.
Of course, Murphy had his hand in all this. Our neighbour, anchored beside us in a Shark on the first night of our honeymoon happened to be a minister. Wouldn't you know it? The next morning he pointed out the various uses of bungee cord on a boat – such as tying off halyards – while noting that there must have been some wind that night for the halyards to have been so noisy. Right! Who is kidding who here? We were newlyweds!
I never did determine whose boat it was I mistakenly boarded later that week and as for the lost drain plug… well, socks work just fine in a sinking emergency provided it's a small drain hole. I don't suggest that this will work if you ever hit a whale at sea but if you've got big feet, you might want to remember it.
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