Read Online Suddenly Overboard by Tom Lochhaas - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Tom Lochhaas
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On a boat displacing only 1,100 pounds, of which only 300 were ballast, the position of Steveâs weight mattered. From his puzzled eyes she guessed heâd never been on a sailboat and had no idea the boat would heel. She always got a kick out of seeing newbiesâ faces the first time they thought the boat was tipping over.
Rusty finally settled down on the cockpit sole, resting his big square jaw on her feet. He was never an issue with just Dave and her, but today might be a problem. Maybe Dave could get him to stay in the cabin.
Once in open water, she turned up into the wind and Dave rattled up the mainsail and cleated off the halyard. With the mainsheet in tight, she fell off onto a starboard tack and shut off the outboard. As she eased down the centerboard, the sloop began making way, water gurgling at the stern. Ah, the feel of the tillerin her hand; she thought she could probably sail blindfolded just by the touch!
Dave unfurled the 150% genoa with the sheet in one hand while he let out the furling line with the other. Then he trimmed the sheet in hard and the boat heeled over and picked up speedâand there was the look of panic in Steveâs eyes as he grabbed at the lifeline at his back. She grinned.
The wind was forecast to be 10 to 15 knots but it couldnât have been over 8 or 9 yet, and she was happy again that she had splurged for the big genoa. Summer winds in the Chesapeake were often light and she really needed it then, but she always looked forward to the better wind of fall and winter.
For a couple of hours they simply sailed about in big, lazy circles, Dave explaining about tacks and jibes and shifting your weight from one side to the other and keeping your head down below the boom. Steve caught onâhe wasnât stupid, she could tellâbut he was big and slow moving. Tacking was like a circus fire drill. Steve sat on the windward side forward with Shannon at the tiller beside him, both their feet tangling with Rusty, who wouldnât stay below. Dave took the leeward cockpit bench, leaning against the cabin bulkhead and keeping his feet out of the dog tangle. When they tacked, Steve lumbered across in front of Dave so he could keep his hold on the cabin top while Dave danced around trying to control the sheets from behind him and avoid stepping on Rusty.
Last time we do it this way! she thought. Now she was glad there were no other boats around to see their little zoo in action.
She put them on a long beam reach out and down the bay, and they ate sandwiches and Steve had a beer. Gradually the wind was coming up, maybe 12 to 13 knots now, and she was enjoying their speed on the fast reach. She leaned back and felt the sun on her face while Dave and Steve talked. The combination of chilly air and warm sun was delightful.
But all too soon it was time to head back. They came about and trimmed to a beam reach on port tack. Rusty was getting restlessnowâhe had to pee but wouldnât on the boatâand kept standing up and trying to climb onto the cockpit seats. The boat just wasnât big enough for all of them. Fortunately the wind was up now and they were zipping back; well, she thought, what passes for zipping in an 18-footer with a stubby keel. It had gotten gusty, too, and she was having fun playing the tiller, falling off and heading up to avoid too much heeling. Dave was teaching Steve about sail trim now, explaining what to do with the sheets when you changed course or the wind changed.
Steve had the mainsheet in his hand when the first harder gust hit them. Shannon didnât have time to respond with the tiller, and they heeled hard over for a long moment. Someoneâs foot kicked Rusty, and he squealed and tried to climb up onto Steveâs lap on the windward side. Steve was trying to stand and push Rusty off and eased the mainsheet without noticing what he was doing. The boat flattened and slowed. Steve stood up in the middle of the cockpit and had
Rusty finally settled down on the cockpit sole, resting his big square jaw on her feet. He was never an issue with just Dave and her, but today might be a problem. Maybe Dave could get him to stay in the cabin.
Once in open water, she turned up into the wind and Dave rattled up the mainsail and cleated off the halyard. With the mainsheet in tight, she fell off onto a starboard tack and shut off the outboard. As she eased down the centerboard, the sloop began making way, water gurgling at the stern. Ah, the feel of the tillerin her hand; she thought she could probably sail blindfolded just by the touch!
Dave unfurled the 150% genoa with the sheet in one hand while he let out the furling line with the other. Then he trimmed the sheet in hard and the boat heeled over and picked up speedâand there was the look of panic in Steveâs eyes as he grabbed at the lifeline at his back. She grinned.
The wind was forecast to be 10 to 15 knots but it couldnât have been over 8 or 9 yet, and she was happy again that she had splurged for the big genoa. Summer winds in the Chesapeake were often light and she really needed it then, but she always looked forward to the better wind of fall and winter.
For a couple of hours they simply sailed about in big, lazy circles, Dave explaining about tacks and jibes and shifting your weight from one side to the other and keeping your head down below the boom. Steve caught onâhe wasnât stupid, she could tellâbut he was big and slow moving. Tacking was like a circus fire drill. Steve sat on the windward side forward with Shannon at the tiller beside him, both their feet tangling with Rusty, who wouldnât stay below. Dave took the leeward cockpit bench, leaning against the cabin bulkhead and keeping his feet out of the dog tangle. When they tacked, Steve lumbered across in front of Dave so he could keep his hold on the cabin top while Dave danced around trying to control the sheets from behind him and avoid stepping on Rusty.
Last time we do it this way! she thought. Now she was glad there were no other boats around to see their little zoo in action.
She put them on a long beam reach out and down the bay, and they ate sandwiches and Steve had a beer. Gradually the wind was coming up, maybe 12 to 13 knots now, and she was enjoying their speed on the fast reach. She leaned back and felt the sun on her face while Dave and Steve talked. The combination of chilly air and warm sun was delightful.
But all too soon it was time to head back. They came about and trimmed to a beam reach on port tack. Rusty was getting restlessnowâhe had to pee but wouldnât on the boatâand kept standing up and trying to climb onto the cockpit seats. The boat just wasnât big enough for all of them. Fortunately the wind was up now and they were zipping back; well, she thought, what passes for zipping in an 18-footer with a stubby keel. It had gotten gusty, too, and she was having fun playing the tiller, falling off and heading up to avoid too much heeling. Dave was teaching Steve about sail trim now, explaining what to do with the sheets when you changed course or the wind changed.
Steve had the mainsheet in his hand when the first harder gust hit them. Shannon didnât have time to respond with the tiller, and they heeled hard over for a long moment. Someoneâs foot kicked Rusty, and he squealed and tried to climb up onto Steveâs lap on the windward side. Steve was trying to stand and push Rusty off and eased the mainsheet without noticing what he was doing. The boat flattened and slowed. Steve stood up in the middle of the cockpit and had
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