Tales from California: We Sail the Ocean Blue

One Friday afternoon in San Diego, Mary and I returned from our morning walk to get wi-fi to find Elizabeth washing down her sailboat while a few people clustered around eagerly. Today was the day: after a few weeks of having engine trouble, Elizabeth’s boat was up, running, and ready to sail. 

Neither Mary nor I had ever been in a watercraft that was larger than a canoe but smaller than a ferry, so we were pumped about the opportunity. With the sun blazing across the waters and a mild feeling to the air, it was the perfect day to sail.

The crew for the afternoon jaunt included Spencer and Bill from the Navy, Murph and Elizabeth from the marina, and Joe and Mary and I from the couchsurfing world. My job consisted of staying out of the way as Murph took the wheel and everyone else scrambled about pulling on ropes and unfurling the topsail. We chugged out of the marina, past a jetty of boulders, out into the open ocean. I had put on a sweater in anticipation of a cold wind, but the salty breeze felt warm. Elizabeth pulled out a massive bag of tortilla chips, a bowl of salsa, and a six-pack of beer. Murph pointed out a gallon-sized bottle of rum to pass around. 

They rigged up the jib sail, then turned off the motor, and the silence of the lapping waters surrounded us. I would have been content to listen to it, but a party requires music, so Joe pulled out his iPad to stream some Pandora. I soon was distracted from the music, though.

I have a healthy fear of the ocean, and one of the keys to surviving in one is to understand the way the waves fall. If I see a wave that appears about to break that is less than ten feet away, my instinct is to run toward it as fast as I can and hope to duck through it before it crushes me to the sand. Now, watching the swells rise up higher than the deck, starting to crumble into foam at the top as they rushed toward us, stabbed me with fear every time. (Also, Bill yelling, “Oh my god!” every time a wave rocked us did not instill much confidence in me.) I learned that the waves didn’t break this far out at sea. I also learned that watching the reactions of the people around me was not the best indication of how worried I should be. 

Joe looking like a captain

Finally, the ocean smoothed out a bit, and I relaxed a bit more. I ate a lot of chips and salsa. I took half a swig of rum. I watched the iridescent water rise and fall around us, sparkling in the sunlight so brightly it hurt my eyes.

Spencer ended up hurling off the side of the boat, and Elizabeth soon followed suit. Murph said it wasn’t a true sailing adventure until someone got seasick. My stomach felt queasy, but I held up pretty well. I even crawled to the front of the boat and sat with my back against the mast, shifting my weight with the waves, and felt the stiff breeze lash my hair around as the sail canvas flapped and billowed.

When we were nearly back to the marina, someone pointed out a gray shape that surfaced in the water— a dolphin! Soon a pod of them emerged, slipping in and out of the water just a few yards from the boat. I saw their supple skin (one had a scar near his dorsal) and the little groups of three or four who clustered together. “They like sailboats,” Murph said. “We don’t make noise.”

Back in still water, the boat drifted to a standstill. Nobody minded: we gazed back behind us at the setting sun. The sky, washed with pastel, provided a backdrop for the detailed silhouettes of a line of palm trees along the jetty. I would have felt as if I was staring at a calendar photo, if it were not for the topsy-turvy feeling in my stomach, the shifting of my weight as the boat bobbed, the sharp smell of salt, and the wet coldness that rises right as the sun falls. 

Murph was a natural at the wheel

At the marina, the crew docked the boat and rolled up the sails. I sat quietly, still trying to stay out of the way. Murph looked at me sideways, as if trying to figure out what I was thinking. “You enjoy it?” he asked.

I nodded, wishing that I was a more articulate person, wishing that I could convey how wonderful and unexpected it was to be sailing on the Pacific on a sun-soaked California day.

“It was great,” I said.

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