Sailing on the Potomac
Today after work Greg and I went sailing. One of the older guys we work with has been kind enough, in addition to mentoring us young engineers, to let us sail his boats on the Potomac. This evening he gave a quick tutorial on how to sail a catamaran and turned us lose.
Back and Forth
Let me just say that catamarans go fast. There was not a whole lot of wind, but we were still able to make runs back and forth across the river at a good clip.
Now, generally one doesn’t want to just make runs back and forth across the river. Instead, one tends to have a certain destination in mind. Sometimes it’s not even certain, just a general want to sail up river. However, it turns out that it’s a bit more difficult to sail a catamaran than a real sailboat. So we, new to the scheme of sailing, ran courses back and forth across the river—for only the sake of sailing, with neither destination nor direction.
Here’s a good picture of Greg wishing that I would stop taking pictures and man the jib sheet. When you’re trying to tack it helps to have someone man the jib sheet instead of ducking the boom and snapping pictures. You’d at least like the pleasure of knocking them into the river with the boom. So if they’re going to be taking pictures, you’ll probably want to extol the virtues of a standing shot. Even if they are in the path of the boom. Tell them to trust you.
We managed to tear along like mad a couple of times. Greg would grin and holler like a lunatic and try to eek more speed out of the sails. See what I mean?
I guess it was a good thing that there wasn’t anyone else on the river. Nevermind the yelling, we were having enough trouble not hitting the buoys. And the buoys don’t move.
Nightfall
Tonight there was no palate of deep oranges and reds crossed by contrails artfully luminescent in the rays of the setting sun, “The Potomac is a very romantic river.” as there was last week. Instead the sky lowered successively darker clouds of diaphanous gray until the lights from the airport and the mall lit up the sky. The backdrop of gray lit by city lights below was pricked by airplanes aligned in their patterned procession, the river silence punctured as they soared overhead, their landing lights bright against the pale glow of the night sky.
A couple stood out on one of the docks talking with the glow of the lights behind them. The man lifted the woman and they appeared to dance in the soothing night air as he spun slowly. At peace with the world and happy together.
I paused, and remembered someone who I had once lifted lightly and spun around at a party years ago. Being that it was a party and she needed steadying when I set her down—she beaming up into my eyes—I doubt she remembers. But I do. And I wished that it was her and I out there on that dock. Perhaps some night, we will get the chance. I hope to hear her say, “The Potomac is a very romantic river.”