I’m e-mailing this piece from my brand-new smart phone. Not that I’m trying to brag about my latest techno-toy or anything. Nope; the reason I bring it up in the first place is that my last phone—the one that I put in that special $18.00 waterproof plastic bag with the impermeable seal—it got drenched last time I went sailing. Seems I took a little spill, and that special plastic bag was only waterproof on the outside, because it was full of water on the inside.
And it’s not like I’m inexperienced. I’ve been sailing since the age of 12, when my dad bought a Lido 14 that we sailed all over Lake Dallas. Upon relocating to Houston, we traded in the Lido for a Gulf Coast 20, and had a great time sailing Galveston Bay. Later, we moved up to a Pacific Seacraft Flicka 20, a stout little drafthorse of a boat. She could take more weather than we could, and we always enjoyed sailing the bay when storm warnings went up. Years later, when I became a father, I bought a 12-ft Zuma, so I could share the sailing experience with my daughter. I christened the cat-rigged dinghy Lil SweeTart, and found her to be a staid and steady craft for my daughter and me. Now that my princess is in college, I’m sailing single-handed.
That single-handed aspect might have something to do with my story. During the last day of March, I felt a serious case of sailing fever coming over me as I stared out the window of my 8th floor office. I told my boss I needed to take off the next day to hit the lake. At that time, however, I had no idea that April 1st just might turn out to be my last.
In an ordinary capsize (if there is such a thing), the crew might be fortunate enough to be sitting on the high side of their boat, and in some cases they can just slide off the lee rail and onto the daggerboard.
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