I live just off a pond that is used for fishing and water skiing and a little sailing. I spent the night out there with all the houses twinkling lights reflecting. There was not a breath of air. I loved the notion that many might be forever looking out there windows wondering, "what's he doing", and as I put up my night cover, "is he really spending the night out there?"
What they miss is the beauty of the sparking lights, the beauty of the full moon coming over the trees and the fact that no one can touch me, I am alone, but not. They miss all the sounds I hear from 360 degrees. They miss the fact that the Canadian geese fly ever more closer because this is their night home. Hearing the wind over their wings as they go by mast high is something to take in. Oh, I did have my 7 year old grandson with me playing Shut the Box on the rear thwart as the light dwindled. Time stops, expectations stop and a new definition of peace is defined.
Doing nothing and enjoying it in a mindful manner is truly an art. Your article is excellent. I recall one leisurely daysail in a bay off the Potomac river when I saw a butterfly outpace me as I traveled along the shore. The serenity of that moment I will never forget.
Thank you, Jonathan. I have to remind myself of this from time to time--I get impatient and then try to think "your'e sitting in a boat in the sun on beautiful water, enjoy yourself!"
We just had the chance to sail a lake in Patagonia. Unfortunately the wind was, rarely, nearly absent, so the guide motored slowly along. However, I'll always be remembering the scenery and the time spent talking with my wife and family--doing "nothing" except strengthening family ties.
There is a small lake near me, about 1000 acres total. As it is in the middle of the woods, the winds are flakey and blow best in the early morning and late afternoon when the temperature difference between the land and water is greatest. In the middle of the day, barely a ripple will disturb the surface of it's inky black water. I love sailing during this time.
Sitting backwards on the thwart, on the leeward side to keep the boom falling off, I love staring off at the barely perceptible wake my little GP14 leaves behind. I can find nothing more relaxing than just sitting there, existing. The elusive zen "now" that people try so hard to attain is so easily found.
And yes, people think I am nuts as well for enjoying what I refer to as ghosting, they just do not understand how restful and stress free it is. Slightly over canvassed for it's weight and size, my GP can be a handful to sail with the wind picks up. It demands all your attention and skill to keep upright, but in those magical non-moments of sailing, there is peace and serenity to counteract the exhilaration and terror of trying to keep a once racing dinghy on her lines.
Thank You Jonathan for absolutely "nailing it", those calm times are golden. Watch the bottom go by , enjoy the peace , maybe have a sandwich but most of all , think How Lucky I Am to be able to do this.
Years ago I wrote an article for Sail Magazine titled something like In Praise of Doing Nothing. I meant it like what Jonathan is saying here so well. Michael and I were aground at our favorite deserted island beachorage in the Bahamas where I was contemplating the joys of not only sailing slowly but also, for spaces of time, not moving at all. Just watching fish and the herons feeding on the fish and at end of day, watching the sun sink in to the sea.
When I teach sailing, especially in small boats, I often hope that some of the time would be in very light breezes. There is an art to feeling and seeing the breeze coming. Feeling the slightest breeze on one's face and arms [whether or not there is hair to help the sensation] makes you one with the boat and brings out more skill than scudding along in a steady rate. Both are skills but are different in quality. In both cases you are trying to optimize your result.
If you have a student who cannot comprehend feeling the wind, they may be ok as a deckhand but you don't want them on the helm. They cannot savor the full sweetness of sailing and its constantly varying nature.
My philosophy was always "If the boat is moving, regardless of its actual speed, then I am sailing and if one is sailing then one is not doing nothing. I have had occasions when even butterflies would get to the mark before I did! Sometimes, if the boat is moving a knot or less and you are not close to the shore its hard to tell if you are actually moving. For those occasions I had a lure on a line that I would throw in the water. If the distance between the lure and the boat increased then I was moving and therefore sailing. Trailing a lure at a low speed has the added advantage of the remote possibility of catching your dinner! I read somewhere that Native Americans paddling on lakes would tie lures to their paddles and catch fish this way. They were much better fishermen than I was, I only caught a fish once.
We call this The Zen of Sailing. Luckily neither of us like to turn on our engine unless we aren't making any forward progress at all. Slow motion is good and good for us.
I’ve been known to take this to extremes by going backwards for an hour or two or dropping an anchor if possible and waiting for a tidal current to change. Always adapting anchorage choices if cozy coves are handy.
...the gurgle against the hull is like a lullaby... I'm getting sleepy...
Well said and needed to be said!
I live just off a pond that is used for fishing and water skiing and a little sailing. I spent the night out there with all the houses twinkling lights reflecting. There was not a breath of air. I loved the notion that many might be forever looking out there windows wondering, "what's he doing", and as I put up my night cover, "is he really spending the night out there?"
What they miss is the beauty of the sparking lights, the beauty of the full moon coming over the trees and the fact that no one can touch me, I am alone, but not. They miss all the sounds I hear from 360 degrees. They miss the fact that the Canadian geese fly ever more closer because this is their night home. Hearing the wind over their wings as they go by mast high is something to take in. Oh, I did have my 7 year old grandson with me playing Shut the Box on the rear thwart as the light dwindled. Time stops, expectations stop and a new definition of peace is defined.
Doing nothing and enjoying it in a mindful manner is truly an art. Your article is excellent. I recall one leisurely daysail in a bay off the Potomac river when I saw a butterfly outpace me as I traveled along the shore. The serenity of that moment I will never forget.
Enjoyed the placid literary bent to this…more Bartleby than Moby Dick..well done
Thank you for posting this. I find sailing to be meditative ... whether fast or slow. i love this video!
Thank you, Jonathan. I have to remind myself of this from time to time--I get impatient and then try to think "your'e sitting in a boat in the sun on beautiful water, enjoy yourself!"
We just had the chance to sail a lake in Patagonia. Unfortunately the wind was, rarely, nearly absent, so the guide motored slowly along. However, I'll always be remembering the scenery and the time spent talking with my wife and family--doing "nothing" except strengthening family ties.
There is a small lake near me, about 1000 acres total. As it is in the middle of the woods, the winds are flakey and blow best in the early morning and late afternoon when the temperature difference between the land and water is greatest. In the middle of the day, barely a ripple will disturb the surface of it's inky black water. I love sailing during this time.
Sitting backwards on the thwart, on the leeward side to keep the boom falling off, I love staring off at the barely perceptible wake my little GP14 leaves behind. I can find nothing more relaxing than just sitting there, existing. The elusive zen "now" that people try so hard to attain is so easily found.
And yes, people think I am nuts as well for enjoying what I refer to as ghosting, they just do not understand how restful and stress free it is. Slightly over canvassed for it's weight and size, my GP can be a handful to sail with the wind picks up. It demands all your attention and skill to keep upright, but in those magical non-moments of sailing, there is peace and serenity to counteract the exhilaration and terror of trying to keep a once racing dinghy on her lines.
Thank You Jonathan for absolutely "nailing it", those calm times are golden. Watch the bottom go by , enjoy the peace , maybe have a sandwich but most of all , think How Lucky I Am to be able to do this.
JW
What is this life if full of care,
We have no time to stop and stare, ……
“Leisure” by William Henry Davies
Years ago I wrote an article for Sail Magazine titled something like In Praise of Doing Nothing. I meant it like what Jonathan is saying here so well. Michael and I were aground at our favorite deserted island beachorage in the Bahamas where I was contemplating the joys of not only sailing slowly but also, for spaces of time, not moving at all. Just watching fish and the herons feeding on the fish and at end of day, watching the sun sink in to the sea.
When I teach sailing, especially in small boats, I often hope that some of the time would be in very light breezes. There is an art to feeling and seeing the breeze coming. Feeling the slightest breeze on one's face and arms [whether or not there is hair to help the sensation] makes you one with the boat and brings out more skill than scudding along in a steady rate. Both are skills but are different in quality. In both cases you are trying to optimize your result.
If you have a student who cannot comprehend feeling the wind, they may be ok as a deckhand but you don't want them on the helm. They cannot savor the full sweetness of sailing and its constantly varying nature.
My philosophy was always "If the boat is moving, regardless of its actual speed, then I am sailing and if one is sailing then one is not doing nothing. I have had occasions when even butterflies would get to the mark before I did! Sometimes, if the boat is moving a knot or less and you are not close to the shore its hard to tell if you are actually moving. For those occasions I had a lure on a line that I would throw in the water. If the distance between the lure and the boat increased then I was moving and therefore sailing. Trailing a lure at a low speed has the added advantage of the remote possibility of catching your dinner! I read somewhere that Native Americans paddling on lakes would tie lures to their paddles and catch fish this way. They were much better fishermen than I was, I only caught a fish once.
We call this The Zen of Sailing. Luckily neither of us like to turn on our engine unless we aren't making any forward progress at all. Slow motion is good and good for us.
I’ve been known to take this to extremes by going backwards for an hour or two or dropping an anchor if possible and waiting for a tidal current to change. Always adapting anchorage choices if cozy coves are handy.
Reminds me of my backpacking days. Sailing my SCAMP without a motor is my liquid backpack. Great article!!!!!!
Nice