The World's Worst Sailor

Still Alive to Tell the Tale

Today we have an excerpt from Stephen (Doc) Regan’s book, The World’s Worst Sailor. Interested readers can order their own copy here. And one lucky reader will win a free SIGNED copy just by leaving a comment below. Enjoy! —Eds

My Wife Hates Sailing, Thank God

This morning I was exiting the shower when I realized that my body wash was Hawaiian Garden (cocoanut and hibiscus), my shampoo was green tea and “organic” aloe, my conditioner was lilac, the hand soap was vanilla and mint, and my deodorant was "Tahiti"—which was some sort of tropical floral scent. Heck, I smelled like some sort of island drink served in a pineapple with an umbrella. 

I confess to being married. For 50 years Ms. Frozen Finland and I have been in happy bliss, and she reminds me how wonderfully lucky and happy I am…each and every day. Unceasingly. My occasional escape, excuse me, time away from my happy existence, is to go sailing. Ms. I-am-Nordic-not-Scandinavian, dislikes man-made lakes, rivers, wind, heeling, lines and things that go bight, docks, dampness, excessive sun, uncomfortable cushions, PFDs, and the wasted time watching her dopey husband raise a mast and set the sails. For this, I am eternally grateful.
Here's how I see it: God really did not intend for women to be on sailing boats. Oh sure, the periodic boat with the bikini clad blonde sunning herself on the bow is certainly one of the charms of boating. And the female who cooks the meals at Messabouts is accepted. But on board, no way. 

If Ms. Suomen Silta herself were into this boating recreation, I would experience life as no self-respecting Man Jack could imagine. The boat would be painted in beige or a pastel blue with appropriate trim in chromic symmetry, perhaps a turquoise. The bright work would be highly polished and constantly dusted. Seating would be oversized cushions in contrasting colors to the hull and in a floral print designed by Marimekko. The tiller would be of Finnish spruce or Nordic birch enveloped by nautical knots and marlinspike. Shoes would be taken off before boarding.
Miss Sauna would have one installed on the boat even if it was a dinghy. All Finnish people have a sauna close at hand. My one and only time aboard a saltwater boat built in Finland did indeed have a sauna in place of a berth. 

Beer would be banned from the boat. White wine would be the adult beverage of choice (she is partial to Iowa Chablis or Chardonnay but occasionally a California Riesling would suffice. If spaghetti is served, a quiet Chianti is unopposed. However, all glasses would be Iittala glassware designed by Tapio Wirkkala and imported directly from Stockman's in Helsinki.

All communications equipment would be, by mandate, Nokia. For that matter, our foulies and boots would be Nokia also. For those who don't know it, Nokia started as a rubber boot company and accidently developed cell phones.

The boat itself must never, ever heel; be attacked by mosquitoes, lack air conditioning (she can't handle humidity), and be deficient in full sanitary equipment including a pulsating shower and large sink. Cooking would be accomplished by the full sized stove and oven under the microwave and next to the Frigidaire with freezer. The berthing spaces would be quilted in distinct colors complete with a Serta mattress and a nautically carved, polished teak headboard. Pillows would be Nordic Goose down and stuffed to a firmness unsurpassed in mere American department stores. The figurehead, that all boats must have, would be a moose head or at least antlers -- not that she'd be concerned about a foul anchor rode, tangled mooring lines, or stuck bumper.

Thus, I get on my knees to proffer thanks and offerings to the Great God Neptune that my wife dislikes boats. I feel a necessity to give praise by consuming quantities of ale and lager at dockside bars with indigent water rats while conversing about sail repair and how best to paint the decks. We all have that look of manly men who have escaped the clutches of spouses who are fuming about yard mowing and screen door patching while we congregate among fellow sailors enjoying the pleasure of our company. Our boats match our personalities: in need of repair, paint, cleaning, and TLC. But we, God's Chosen Few, continue to tinker, purchase, and sail to our hearts content in eternal gratitude that our wives hate boats. •SCA•