It's a Matter of Time

Our chosen means of propulsion provides us with a special gift

Story by Jonathan Lewis

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I once got a bit perturbed when a writer friend of mine referred to the speed of my boat on a sail across Cape Cod Bay to Provincetown as a “sedate pace.” As the article was published in Sail magazine for all to see, I took exception to the characterization because the breeze was light and aft of the beam, so with the reduced apparent wind I was content with my true wind performance. I recalled this same author marveling at the magical propulsion of my previous ultralight displacement vessel skimming along the calm surface bound for Nantucket. Its translucent tightly-sheeted Mylar deck-sweeping headsail slicing into the night on barely a hint of air.  With the sky speckled with stars we seemed to be altering the state of time. The horizon was barely discernible and the line between liquid and gas melded in disjointed harmony to a soundtrack emanating from aft, as the water flowed by the balanced spade rudder.

Estimated times of arrival weren’t contemplated or considered. Relishing the moment was wordlessly communicated and understood. The metaphysics of the experience are a creation of sailing in the right time and place. Being on a sailboat on a body of water provides the ingredients for an alchemy to occur that is like none other on this planet, and I believe a predominant contributor to this phenomenon is the transformative impact of time. The seconds still tick by, the minutes accumulate and the hours become watches, then days, weeks or longer. However, the actual meaning and realization of time changes and its measurement and significance goes through a metamorphosis. We no longer fixate on an exact number because our ever fluctuating environment doesn’t allow it and scoffs at attempts of accuracy. Our lives are enhanced and lengthened, and that precious commodity that we’re miserly allotted from birth is thrust upon us in abundance when onboard. I believe this happens because we slow everything down as if we’re walking through life instead of running and hurrying to a conclusion.

The comparatively slow speeds of our vessels give us the opportunity for consideration and contemplation. Slowly approaching a channel at night with a dogleg and an assortment of alternating lights allows us to form a view in our mind’s eye while referencing a plotter or paper chart, and permits safe passage through an otherwise chaotic display of flashing reds and greens. A cut in the reef chooses to reveal itself through water depths and colors or wavelets delineating perimeters. As we approach an anchorage, shallows gradually make themselves known and don’t pounce unpredictably.

Our chosen means of propulsion on the surface of a watery realm provides us with a special gift. Maybe a sedate pace is something to strive for, rather than to artificially attempt to remedy. A state of speed may be something we thankfully choose not to unwrap. •SCA•