Blown Away

Our powerboat suited our needs just fine. It was big enough for the three of us, had a nice back deck, a microwave, an upright refrigerator, air conditioning, a television (with cable!) and a fully enclosed shower. We had our own private room with a queen-sized bed and the kiddo had his own separate room with bunk beds and his very own closet. For thirty-six feet it was pretty comfortable. We weren't camping.

We'd been living on the powerboat for a year when a friend of mine invited me and the baby out for a daysail aboard his sailboat. Jon was working and didn't get to witness firsthand the moment I decided we should be sailors.

We went out on the sailboat and at first it wasn't too much different than riding along on a powerboat. We motored out of the marina and past the inner harbor islands, the little inboard diesel engine chugging away. But then we headed into the wind and raised the mainsail. This was a joint effort. Somebody steered, somebody winched up the sail. Once it was up, we killed the engine and unfurled the jib. 

And there was nothing.

No exhaust. No vibrating engine. No shouting.

Instead there was the lapping of wavelets on the hull as we sliced through the sea. There was the whooshing of sail cloth as the sails filled with wind. Halyards clanked rhythmically against the mast. Sea spray kissed our faces. A bell on a buoy rang. I'd known from information provided on navigational charts that certain buoys had bells that rang as the buoys swayed with the sea, but I'd never actually heard them ring over the roar of our powerboat's twin gas engines.

We opened some beers and had a conversation in a normal tone of voice. Everybody had a task. One person would steer while another person would crank the winches during a tack. We had a navigator. A snack and beer fetcher. On the powerboat, Jon would drive and I'd hang out with the baby. It's easy to single hand a powerboat. On a sailboat, everyone is crew. It's a sport and requires teamwork. Even if your job is to stay out of the way and not get your fingers caught in anything, it's still a pretty noteworthy position on the team.

I went home that night to my powerboat and knew it was all over. I'd felt the tug of the sails, heard the pulse of the sea against the hull. I was in love. 

And so it began. 

It wasn't long afterwards that we hung a for sale sign on the powerboat. This was 2010, not long after the economy began its spiral down the shitter. There weren't many buyers lining up for a twenty-five-year-old gas guzzling boat.

Things looked bleak. But then I met her. She was chalky yellow and fat in the midsection and I knew she was going to be mine. Not too long afterward we found a buyer for the powerboat. A new chapter had begun. One of my favorite chapters in our crazy true-story.