Project Jibsheet: Prelude
I'm certifiable. Ask anybody.
I believe it was the 4th of July weekend of 2003 when I first experienced the thrill of sailing. Uncle Jim had just purchased a tiny little Hobie Bravo, and he took me out for a spin. I think I spent most of that weekend on the water. The transmission of power, from the wind through the sail through the mast and into the hull -- it was enchanting, intoxicating. I think I spent most of that weekend on the water. I was hooked.
Fast-forward a couple of years, and my parents are buying their retirement home on the lake in Wisconsin. They close the deal on a Friday, we spend the weekend cleaning up the place, Fish and I go out boat shopping on Wednesday, and the boat is delivered to the lake that night. We bought a Hobie Wave, which is one size bigger than the Bravo, and can seat four if you're willing to plough very slowly through the water. With one or two riders, it's a nimble little thing, and a lot of fun.
Then comes December 2005, and our trip to Key West to hang out with the Puzzle Pirates gang. That trip involved an evening cruise on the Appledore, a gaff-rigged schooner, which took the feeling of sailing our little Hobie cat and blew it up by several orders of magnitude. Again, the feeling of the wind pulling the boat was a thrill, only this time it was combined with the power of the sea. It was after this experience that Fish and I started considering larger sailboats in our future.
So it's been quite a while that we've dreamed of sailing larger boats ourselves, on waters bigger than the tiny lake my parents live on. A bit of research led me to discover the American Sailing Association's standards, and the various schools which offer ASA certifications. My original plan was to sail out of Tortola, in the British Virgin Islands. This would involve the headaches of international travel, but the location seemed ideal. Leems and I had renewed our passports in anticipation of a trip to the UK that never quite panned out; Fishtie got his taken care of over the winter.
I'd planned to schedule classes last year, but our vacation time and money was all spent on travels to Pittsburgh following the sudden passing of Leems' mom. This year, I got the go-ahead from Lemur to make arrangements for the spring. Looking at schedules and airfares and available dates for the three of us, it quickly became apparent that a trip to the BVIs would be difficult and expensive to pull off, so we rescheduled closer to home, and found a school in Pensacola Beach that could fit us into their schedule in the week of Easter. And so the tickets were bought, and the arrangements made, and the people at Visa and American Express got all tingly because Squid was actually using their credit cards to buy things.
The entries that follow describe our recent Florida adventure. I trust that my friends will pardon my spamming of their friends-lists.
I believe it was the 4th of July weekend of 2003 when I first experienced the thrill of sailing. Uncle Jim had just purchased a tiny little Hobie Bravo, and he took me out for a spin. I think I spent most of that weekend on the water. The transmission of power, from the wind through the sail through the mast and into the hull -- it was enchanting, intoxicating. I think I spent most of that weekend on the water. I was hooked.
Fast-forward a couple of years, and my parents are buying their retirement home on the lake in Wisconsin. They close the deal on a Friday, we spend the weekend cleaning up the place, Fish and I go out boat shopping on Wednesday, and the boat is delivered to the lake that night. We bought a Hobie Wave, which is one size bigger than the Bravo, and can seat four if you're willing to plough very slowly through the water. With one or two riders, it's a nimble little thing, and a lot of fun.
Then comes December 2005, and our trip to Key West to hang out with the Puzzle Pirates gang. That trip involved an evening cruise on the Appledore, a gaff-rigged schooner, which took the feeling of sailing our little Hobie cat and blew it up by several orders of magnitude. Again, the feeling of the wind pulling the boat was a thrill, only this time it was combined with the power of the sea. It was after this experience that Fish and I started considering larger sailboats in our future.
So it's been quite a while that we've dreamed of sailing larger boats ourselves, on waters bigger than the tiny lake my parents live on. A bit of research led me to discover the American Sailing Association's standards, and the various schools which offer ASA certifications. My original plan was to sail out of Tortola, in the British Virgin Islands. This would involve the headaches of international travel, but the location seemed ideal. Leems and I had renewed our passports in anticipation of a trip to the UK that never quite panned out; Fishtie got his taken care of over the winter.
I'd planned to schedule classes last year, but our vacation time and money was all spent on travels to Pittsburgh following the sudden passing of Leems' mom. This year, I got the go-ahead from Lemur to make arrangements for the spring. Looking at schedules and airfares and available dates for the three of us, it quickly became apparent that a trip to the BVIs would be difficult and expensive to pull off, so we rescheduled closer to home, and found a school in Pensacola Beach that could fit us into their schedule in the week of Easter. And so the tickets were bought, and the arrangements made, and the people at Visa and American Express got all tingly because Squid was actually using their credit cards to buy things.
The entries that follow describe our recent Florida adventure. I trust that my friends will pardon my spamming of their friends-lists.