Lap 54, Day 162

 

Second half. 

As the California "stay at home" orders continue to escalate with the returning surge of Covid-19, the desire to write is,,,diminishing. It's not that I don't have the discipline, it's more along the lines that other than medical facilities, it's been five months inside the same room.  Some call it cabin fever.

I always thought that I could single handed sail long distances. Not necessarily a circumnavigation, but I thought I could do oceanic crossings, stay a while, continue on. Maybe I will have that ability one day but after five months, I'm no so sure.

Today I celebrated another lap of the solar system and head out again, without my daughters. In a conversation with my Father this evening I spoke briefly about them. He, the man who lost his own children, but regained them miraculously, was a better Father than I. I never regained mine.

Still, I had lasagna tonight as if they were here. 

Good Friday and an Easter Remberance

     Easter was a (mostly) enjoyable time for me growing up.

     As a child, it was school break, traveling on the longest weekend of the year, and with the autumnal weather, cool enough during the day and warm enough at night to sleep.  Later, I found myself in the servitude of the Church during the Easter celebrations, the mostly holiest time of the year.

     As a teenager, Easter changed. In 1982 my father, drove north to Laguna Bay where my brother and I sailed in our first major regatta.  We were rank outsiders, two young kids, unknowns. Not surprisingly, we were robbed blind after the final race. We drove home that weekend with a new focus. I would go on to win seven (7) titles, but nothing would ever erase that memory of that Easter.

   What I remember the most of that Easter was the weather. Old enough to remember, it would become the blueprint for all future Easter regattas I attended. Raining, wet, and despite the autumnal weather, cold enough during the day for hypothermia and not warm enough at night to sleep. My father would launch us off the beach, have warm food for us on our return, and relaunch us in the afternoon. He did more for my sailing history than I could ever thank him for.

     Here we are, 38 years later and the weather in Southern California this Easter weekend reminds me so much of what happened at Laguna Bay. The rain, the coldness, the thievery and the subsequent follow through. I am feeding two sick patients, albeit, not at the beach in the elements. However, I am currently on day 28 of isolation from Corona virus with the same emotions back then - there is nothing I can do to change what has occurred, but I will never let this happen again.

     Easter was a (mostly) enjoyable time for me growing up - I hope I have more enjoyment that this.

Tacking

     Sixteen years ago today, I commenced racing in a catamaran series that would eventually produce the fifth of my seven championships. I won the fifth championships with a perfect score, in part, because nobody could "go to windward" better than I.

     The act of going to windward requires sailing in one direction, and then, changing to another direction. The act of turning, is called tacking. When going to windward, a boat may make several tacks, to counter tide, wind, and competition. Sometimes the fastest way to windward is to tack back and forth. Other times, it's two long treks separated by a single tack.

    Writers, like sailors, are often called upon to make decisions similar to those encountered in sailing. What's the best path to the next mark? What is the preferred tack? And most importantly, how to cover the immediate threat. Tacking, is about making decisions, and at times, the realization you have to go in the unfavorable direction, to come back on the preferred path.

    As an author, protecting your unpublished work prior to getting to the printing press, may require a different tack.

    Head to wind, loosening the sheets, pointing the boat through the eye of the wind and letting the sails fill on the "other side". Tacking.

Has It Really Been Ten Years?

  Has it really been ten years since my flight touched down at LAX?

  Has it really been ten years since Adam and I sat around Toscani's complaining about the public holiday surcharge?

  Has it really been ten years since the sun came up over the bay and set over the mountains?

  Has it really been ten years since Dad BBQ-ed lunch?

  Has it really been ten years since the drive up to Toowoomba to see my Godsons?

  Has it really been ten years since I put a sail on the water?

  Has it really been ten years since the last bout of "tickle wars" with my daughters?

  Sadly, it has really been ten years. 

How Fast Can It Go?

  In about 1981, my father purchased a sailing catamaran. My brother and I got together and both of us, instantly, asked the same question. "How fast can it go?" And thus we started racing that catamaran, together.

  That was not successful. My brother and I were two different types of sailors - he was a helmsman, I was the tactician. As teenagers, we argued over everything from set up to pull down. Eventually, I stepped away to another class, and he became an accomplished helmsman.

  In 1986, the Australian Championships were held at Bargara Beach, Queensland. My brother was one of the favorites to win the title.  Ten days before the start of the titles, I secured a boat on loan to go to the titles. It would be the first time that he and I had ever gone "head to head".

  He didn't win the title. In seven heats he couldn't beat me once. The driving moment was when I won a heat and eventually finished fourth outright. My brother, finished ninth. In the following years, I would go on to win a record seven titles. My brother, he never sailed again.

  After leaving Australian and being gone ten years, my father telephoned me last year. "Your brother bought a boat." My brother stripped, repaired and rebuilt that shell, turning it into one of the best presented crafts on the water.

  The Australian National Titles start tomorrow at Spears Point, on Lake Macquarie, New South Wales. Ten races, nine to count.

  I've waited 29 years to see him sail again.

  How fast can it go? Bring it home, Brother.