Published September 2014 in Freshwater News

Author’s Note: “A Sailing Family” was originally published in Freshwater News back in September of 2014, and it’s been one of the stories that many friends have asked for reprints of more than any other.  I guess (hope) it reminds everyone of happy times with people they care about.  I hope it does the same for you…

On a recent Friday, my wife and I spent the evening sailing with some friends on board their C&C 40.  It was one of those perfect evenings, with temps in the high 70’s and plenty of wind to make the runs up and down the Columbia fun, with little danger of spilling any beverages that might possibly be on board.

Among the boaters who were out enjoying the water that evening was a young family from the boat in the next slip over.  The four of them, plus the family dog, were in their inflatable tender, heading over to a nearby beach for a little summer evening picnic.  It was a great scene, and got me to thinking about my earlier years and spending time sailing on Puget Sound and beyond.

My sister and I had the privilege of spending most of our young lives growing up around sailboats.  Back in 1966 when my father decided to build a 31-foot trimaran in the backyard, it changed our lives forever (and not just by providing me with an early lesson on the necessities of profanity and its relation to various forms of labor).  It opened up a world to my sister and me that most of our contemporaries would never experience.  Because my father had a certain sense of adventure, and because my mother recognized that we’d be better off seeing and doing things that didn’t include the television, the two of them took the two of us on a journey that showed what lay outside the four walls of our suburban Seattle home.

When the boat was completed, or at least completed enough that she would take us where we wanted to go, our weekends and summer vacations were spent sailing.  We traveled the length and breadth of Puget Sound on weekends, and no summer was complete for us unless we spent several weeks sailing in the San Juan and Canadian Gulf islands, our trusty, stout, Piver-designed trimaran taking us to places we otherwise could have only dreamed about.  We spent more time on the water or in marinas than we did watching the three channels on our television (remember, this was the sixties), and we saw things that our friends marveled at: sailing across the Strait of Juan de Fuca while a pod of porpoise played and swam with us; witnessing bald eagles in flight when that was truly a rarity; watching curious harbor seals swim up alongside our boat in Massacre Bay on Orcas Island; and far more memories too numerous to mention here.

My father was the sailor, trained and perfected at the Naval Academy.  He had a patient nature and an uncommon knowledge that not only made it easier to learn how to sail, but also made it fun.  My mother hadn’t been a sailor prior to this time, but she brought traits to the mix that were equally vital: resourcefulness, resilience, and the ability to entertain us through the written word.  As Dad sailed us from one anchorage to another (he typically loathed mooring at a crowded marina), Mom would read to all of us.  The variety of literature she imparted was as different as the coves we anchored in.  From the humor of H. Allen Smith to the adventures of Jack London, to the simple tragic beauty of Hemingway and Steinbeck, Mom covered it all.  I sail today with music, but I think nothing tops those days of coasting through the San Juans while Mom brought to life “Call of the Wild” and all the adventures of Buck, the hero of that wonderful book.  How lucky for my sister and me.  How incredibly lucky.

As I write this today, contemplating life now that both my parents have passed on (hopefully to calm seas and fair winds), I can’t help but think back to those simple, perfect days growing up on a sailboat.  So thanks, Mom and Dad.  Thanks for taking us to beautiful and wonderful places.  Thanks for giving us a life that many never get to experience.  Thanks for teaching us that going slow, powered by the wind alone, was more than enough.  It made us different, it made us unique.

I guess you could say it made us a sailing family.