By William C. Winslow
What an absolutely perfect day for boating! The morning light reveals a dazzling, solid blue sky and gentle 10-knot winds were blowing temperatures in the 70s. My marina, reopened after the coronavirus, had a celebratory feel.
I sped down to my slip to savor the new day, but alas, it was not to celebrate the new season. I was there to end it, having just sold my boat. With the new owner to take possession within an hour, the delivery captain was performing an inspection of operating equipment, controls, running rigging, fuel, and yes, toilet paper in the head. The ensign fluttered off the stern; the dinghy bobbed in the still water.
Captain (I never did catch has last name) backed out of the slip, turned the cat boat’s bow down Meetinghouse Creek, and disappeared around the bend in the channel headed for the Great Peconic Bay and eventually Long Island Sound. I watched the departure with great visual and emotional intensity, as today my sailing career, stretching back to 1948, ended.
Why did I do it? Well, it certainly wasn’t the pandemic that forced skippers and crews into nautical isolation and social distancing. I had listed my vessel for sale prior to the virus’ arrival. The short answer is my age — at 85, I thought it was time to quit while I was still in good health and in control of my seamanship abilities. Nobody wants to deal with a yacht sale while hobbled with shore bound disabilities, sickness, or while staring down death.
Was my decision relatively easy to make? Yes, but as with most things in life, it was more complicated than that. Over the last few years, my psyche has taken a new direction. I’ve decided to simplify life, cut back on challenges, and refrain from acquiring the new skills needed to compete in the 21st century.
Reflecting back on my habits over the years, it seemed that I relished trying to prove myself: gingerly taking the helm of an uncle’s sail boat when I was eight, competing in solitary sports like track rather than team experiences, intercollegiate ski jumping in college, public speaking, writing for publication, white water kayaking, and even the social art of dating.
I moved to New York City after graduating from college in 1957 and my boating experience came aground. The Big Apple is too expensive for nautical indulgences, especially for an individual toiling in the nonprofit world. Yet decades later, marriage changed everything. My bride had just bought a tiny house in the Hamptons, and I suddenly had the space and shared expenses to build a sail boat. Which I did!
It took me 12 years of mostly weekend work, but I loved the challenges of building a boat — lofting (drawing the plans full size), beveling and shaping wood (there are no square measurements in naval design), installing a motor, and mast rigging. Why was each a challenge? I knew full well at each step along the way that my life and that of the boat were at risk if I screwed up!
Over the years I have owned four craft. I have readily enjoyed maintenance, spring launch, and adding equipment, all while perfecting skills like heavy weather sailing, dead reckoning, and weather forecasting. But no longer — I’ve opted out of the fun of varnishing, painting, and keeping up with electronics. You carry on, please, until life on the water loses its spice for you. If it ever does.
The author is the Division 5 – Staff Officer Public Affairs, First District Southern Region, for the U.S. Coast Guard Auxiliary, the all-volunteer, non-military arm of the Coast Guard, teaching boating safety education and conducting search and rescue operations. Visit http://cgaux.org/ to join the Auxiliary or for class information.
