DOCKING UNDER SAIL
My wife, Wendy, and I had purchased our little 1986 Catalina C22 in February 2020. It was about a month before the world was thrown into utter turmoil. To say that little boat saved my life during what appeared to be a never-ending quarantine would be an understatement. We decided to start small. My wife had never sailed before, and I hadn’t in 25 years.
We bought the boat from the estate of a man named Bill, who’d purchased it from the Boy Scouts of America when they purged their fleet. The Boy Scouts had obtained it new from Catalina in 1986. Third owner of a 34-year-old boat—not bad.
I learned all this from Bill’s son, who told me about his father’s love for the boat. I could tell letting go was hard, and he was making sure that the boat went to someone who would love her as much as his father had. I assured him that my wife and I would take good care of her.
Finally, on Leap Day 2020, we handed over $2,300 and took ownership of Indulgence. We spent the first season sailing around our local Perdido and Pensacola bays and connected bayous. Wendy learned to sail, and I relearned, sailing by going to the places we’d only driven to before, such as Pirates Cove Marina in Alabama, and the Flora-bama, a beach bar that sits on, you guessed it, the Florida-alabama State line.
The best, most exciting moment for me was sharing a night camping on the boat with my son, Joseph, who spent a month with us this past summer before starting school.
We shoved off early one afternoon and motored out of our protected anchorage in Perdido Beach, Alabama. The wind was gusting to 20 knots, and we had a fast downwind run to what I thought would be a good anchorage. Little did I know, the wind would shift just enough to make it impossible to anchor there.
We reached our destination, dropped anchor and almost immediately began to drag. After a brief
discussion, we headed into a much more protected anchorage. Motoring into 20-knot winds with a 10 hp Mercury outboard was an adventure itself. When we reached our new spot, I was soaked and exhausted. Luckily for my son, he had decided to go below and let Dad deal with the elements while he caught up on his Youtube videos. So much for a social-media-free day.
We dropped anchor and enjoyed the calm of the well-protected anchorage. We fished (with no success) and ate hamburgers for dinner. Afterward, I decided it was time for my celebratory (and much-deserved) cigar. The bar was open, and we ended the evening with cold beer and great conversation. I was able to get reacquainted with my now-adult son and learned probably more than a dad needs to know. We bedded down for the night with the plan of sailing the bay again the next morning.
Joseph and I woke with the sun and had breakfast. The plan was to sail back to where we had attempted to anchor the previous day so Joseph could take another run at fishing Perdido Bay. My outboard had another plan, deciding that I’d abused it enough the previous day and that it needed some time off. With no motor, we had little chance of navigating the narrow channel out into the bay. I made the unpopular decision of calling it a day until I could figure out what was wrong with the outboard. We had two choices: call the marina for a tow, or attempt docking under sail. I had tried to do so only twice in my life. I’d failed both times and had to paddle in. Naturally, we decided to sail.
The wind was blowing in the right direction at about 5 knots. We raised anchor, then the foresail. The wind held steady and we were on our way, screaming downwind at maybe 3 knots. I waved to the children playing on the docks of the waterfront homes like a conquering hero. We had just sailed off anchor, how hard could it be to dock without a motor?
Once out of the inlet, we turned to starboard. Now on a beam reach, Joseph noticed rippling water ahead of us and asked if wind was causing it. “Yes,” I said, and watched in excitement as we gently coasted into the disturbed water.
Our sails filled again and the change in speed was noticeable, even if we were going only about 5 knots. We were 300 yards from our home marina, Resmondo Boat Works. I told Joseph my plan. He grabbed our paddle and positioned himself up on the bow. When we were at a 90-degree angle from our dock, I turned to port, pointed the bow in and released the foresail halyard. Joseph quickly corralled the sail, and we coasted along with a little help from the tailwind.
It seemed like an eternity, but we moved steadily along like the little engine that could. I maneuvered us around the O’day 28 at the end of the dock and aimed the bow in at a 45-degree angle. Joseph stood ready on the bow. As we inched closer, he called out the distance. At we neared the dock, I spun the tiller, pushing the stern in. Joseph jumped off and steadied the bow while I reached out and caught the piling behind me. We were home.
Once tied up, I told him that I’d never successfully performed that maneuver and that I was both happy and proud that I had finally accomplished it with his help. I can’t tell you whose smile was broader, but I do know who was the proudest.