You present sailing as glamorous high-roller adventure on open seas. But what about old duffers like me, who just glide serenely on small lakes, enjoying the wondrous freedom of nature?
When my wife and I were in our 70s, we took my beloved old 19ft Flying Scot to bigger lakes, but we grew too infirm to launch and rig it. So, I donated the Scot to the Sewell Mountain Sailing Association at Summersville Lake, West Virginia. Now in my 80s, I sail alone in my 14ft Force 5 on a small lake near Charleston WV.
Compared to the world-class sailing in your magazine, I’m rather pathetic—but there’s deep joy in simply skimming along on the free power of the wind, amid geese, cranes and muskrats. To me, sailing is a kind of poetry. As King Solomon wrote in Proverbs: “There be three things which are too wonderful for me, yea, four which I know not; The way of an eagle in the air; the way of a serpent upon a rock; the way of a ship in the midst of the sea; and the way of a man with a maid.” — James A. Haught, Charleston, WV