WIND CHICKEN GONE WILD
“I don’t think the rudder post is supposed to move like that,” I told the captain.
“It turns with the wheel,” he said dismissively, eyes closed, hands on his chest. “Starboard to port.”
“I didn’t say turn. I said move. Athwartship.” Phillip’s head snapped up. That did the trick. Nautical terms usually did, although they still surprised me whenever they occasionally tumbled out of my mouth, as if I didn’t know the person who was talking. It wasn’t long ago I thought sailing was only for people who wore blue embossed blazers and said things like “halyard, forestay and yarrr.” Barely three years a sailor, and I still feel very new to it, because new things seem to happen every time we go out.
Five days, four, a 1985 Niagara 35. And while we had many expectations as to what might go wrong, the things that actually did go wrong could have never been predicted. Sitting around trying to dream up problems that might occur out there is a fool’s game because it’s the things you don’t expect that will teach you the most.
